


Knowing You

by dulce_de_leche_go



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Communication Failure, Drama & Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Forced Marriage, HP: EWE, Lack of Communication, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Romance, marriage law
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-03-10 17:32:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 85,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13506411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dulce_de_leche_go/pseuds/dulce_de_leche_go
Summary: A dwindling magical population, a community divided, one panicked Ministry, and a forced marriage law that swears it has paired citizens with their most suitable match. What do you do when your spouse is your most loathed compatriot? Well, you date them, of course. Dramione. Post-Hogwarts/War, EWE format.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally hosted on FFNet, this is a reuploading of a completed fic, however I am going through each chapter individually and making some edits and updates that I never could find the time to do before. Folks that have read this before may find some details changed or edits made, but nothing huge that would change the outcome of the story. Hopefully, for anyone that has expressed to me they missed it, they will enjoy rereading it with the updates!

Five years.

A lot can happen in five years.

People get together.

People grow apart.

People change their views and opinions on things.

People fall in love, get married, have families...except that they don't.

They tried to give it time. They tried to let people recover from the shock and devastation of the Second Wizarding War. The numbers were bad immediately following, but that's to be expected in a time of war; that's what they told themselves anyway. That’s what they told themselves even though they’d sincerely thought to see a boom in population what with that _actually_ being how post-war recovery typically worked out.

It was what they told themselves for the three years following the war.

People were just recovering.

People were scared to marry, scared to have children because those that’d fought last time _were_ the children. And, if some of that fear was that they would produce another so-called prophetic child that would act as catalyst to send them all into yet another war spiral...well, nobody talked about it. Not aloud, anyway.

Despite the positive change in the air--the new and better views on witches and wizards of all different backgrounds and upbringings--people were _scared_ . They were terrified of what lay in wait for the next generation. The people that suffered the most through the last war were the ones now tasked with the responsibility of repopulating the already dwindling magical society and, to put it bluntly, if left to their own devices, the entirety of wizarding Britain would be downright _screwed_.

The new post-war Ministry was full of different faces, kinder faces, faces full of tolerance and knowledge, but faces that had to make a decision. When the numbers were revealed and discussed with the top, most highly praised, Arithmancers and the predictions were made, those same faces had to act. The decision wasn't easy, nor was it expected to go over any better than a lead balloon within the magical community, but it _had_ to be done lest there _be no_ magical community left.

They gave it a couple more years to correct itself and when there was little to no progress made on its own, the council met and deliberated. They bickered and yelled. They protested and preached. Day after relentless day the meetings continued and after several months of trying to find other ways that would yield the results needed to keep their society afloat and thriving, they finally came to a decision and made their announcement.

**_August 1, 2003 The Ministry enacted The Recovery, Reconstruction, and Repopulation Act._ **

It would come to be known as many things after its termination in 2013: archaic, ridiculous, a savior to the magical community; however, if we're in the business of calling a 'spade' a 'spade' the most accurate description would still be ‘The Forced Marriage Law of 2003’.


	2. Chapter 2

The lift shuddered, creaking obnoxiously as it settled into place. He hated this floor. Merlin, how he hated this floor. Granted, there were only a handful of times he actually had to make the trek over to it for any kind of business, but the unpleasantness of each of those times held more weight than any of his other day to day tasks.

The cage door swept aside, the path cleared into what he scathingly came to call 'The GryffinPuff Gauntlet'. Someone to his rear cleared their throat, the simple sound indicating that he was in the way and they needed to get off here as well – he gave that someone a long perfected sneer that seemed to take care of the little tickle in their throat right away. Taking a deep, calming breath, Draco set foot onto the second level of The Ministry building with a steely gaze and sights set on his destination with no room for interruption in his stride.

The Auror office wasn't huge in comparison to several other departments within the massive building, but it was large enough to be intimidating. At least it may have been intimidating for someone who was not Draco Malfoy. For Draco, it was simply an oversized annoyance to his already stressful and busy day. He had wanted to work here once, he'd even been part of the class that had come back to Hogwarts to finish their shortened final school year and had made sure to take all the necessary courses as well as realign his scores to where they needed to be.

It's funny how much better in school you can be without an insane man taking up residence in your home and threatening to kill you and your family if you don't kill everyone that has a difference of opinion; enlightening, that experience. The whole thing had sparked something in him, a desire to do better, a need to make up for it all in a way. Draco had thought that his knowledge of spells, both light and dark, his expertise with potions, and just generally his experience on the other side of the coin would be a valuable and sought after resource to the Auror department. A few of the members of The Ministry thought so as well, however the Head of the Auror Office seemed to _strongly_ disagree.

Regardless of the fact that his scores were leaps and bounds better than Saint Potter's and the Weasel's were hardly even worth mentioning, the man wouldn't even give Draco a second thought. The kindest explanation he was given was that the others wouldn't be able to focus on their tasks and missions with him at their back because he may still be seen by some as a traitor or 'likely to turn'.

So much for second chances.

So here he was. Standing in front of a door with a stack of folders tucked in the crook of his arm, impeccably dressed – as always – for his stable and unadventurous position as Director of Domestic and Foreign Trade within the Department of International Magical Cooperation, International Magical Trading Standards Body division, handling the regulation and redistribution of potion ingredients with a focus on rare or hazardous materials. It was a long and fancy title for possibly the dullest desk job in existence. Sure, every once in a blue moon he'd actually go on location to procure or consult with gatherers in the field for some of the items and that always proved to be interesting, but for the vast majority of his days he was stuck sitting buried beneath stacks upon stacks of reports and proposals and all sorts of gryphon shite that drove him batty. Draco sighed at the door, raising his knuckles to rap on the tacky looking privacy glass, right under the big bold letters that read 'CURSE-BREAKER LIAISON'.

"Come in." The sharp command was only slightly muffled by the barrier between rooms.

His most familiar sneer found its way to his face out of reflex alone, but he knew the routine well enough. Giving the knob a rough twist and a shove, he let himself into the modestly sized office. The second his polished square toed shoes crossed the threshold, his sneer melted into a charmingly condescending smirk. Draco took in the sight of the woman behind the desk, papers piled around her in obsessively neat stacks, an engraved brass plaque sitting in the dead center of it all with her quill scribbling like mad on a long piece of parchment, the top of which stretched across the top of the desk to curl over the side and tickle the carpeted floor. She didn't even spare him a glance at his entry.

Draco let the door slam shut loudly behind him, the sudden bang startling her upright and causing her to snap her quill tip off, smearing a line of ink through a portion of her work. His smirk morphed into a brilliant grin.

"Evening Granger."

"Malfoy."

Hermione's stare appeared bored, though it was one of many carefully orchestrated masks that she'd used the last three years to attempt to bear his unwelcome presence as painlessly as possible. In truth, her irritation levels were already about an 8 out of 10 and Draco Malfoy was the absolute last person she wanted to deal with before the end of her shift.

Sauntering his way over to the massive mahogany desk, he smiled charmingly down at her, interrupting her attempt to salvage her report by dropping the stack of files rather unceremoniously atop the spot where she was so delicately waving her wand to extract the stray ink blots.

"You look positively knackered. Rough day, love?" He relished the way her lips thinned into a tight line and her left eye twitched at the endearment.

Calmly tucking her wand back into her sleeve, Hermione straightened again in her seat. Clasping her hands on top of the paperwork he'd brought her, she gave him a very brief hint of the most professional smile she could muster in the presence of someone's neck she wanted to wring.

"Not at all, but thank you for your inkling of concern."

He flopped down into the cushy chair across from her, slouching into the seat and fixing her with a dazzling grin.

"Not concern, just poking around to see who I should thank for running you ragged. It's rather my favorite look for you: stressed, frazzled, at your wits end over the countless mysteries you're still, and forever will be, unable to solve. I'm afraid I've become so busy doing all these tasks of _real_ importance that I haven't been able to visit you as often as I used to, to remind you exactly where you stand in the greater scheme of it all." If possible, his grin widened when her eye twitched again.

_'Well. That was rather...aggressive of him.'_

Hermione counted to ten as slowly as she could in her head. Before she could respond, he kicked up his feet onto the edge of her desk and reclined comfortably. She counted to thirty this time, all the while, the idiot blond just grinning at her like a cheeky idiot, quiet...but grinning. She took the time to examine him through what she was quite sure was a cold glare. His face was drawn in a mocking and jovial expression, but she could see lines around his eyes. Tiredness? Stress? She wasn't sure, she didn't really much _care_ , but whatever the cause for them was also the cause for his current mood.

Hermione had become used to thinly veiled insult after insult after all their exchanges, however, they were usually at least that - veiled. He so seldom would come to her with such blatant displays and inflammatory behavior, but when he did, it was always something particularly foul getting under his skin. She would have to find out what had his poncy knickers in a twist this time via her connections in his department for some properly timed payback. For now, she forced herself to smile and ignore his harsh attempts to get a rise out of her.

"Ah," she said, and placed a hand over one of his shoes where his ankles were crossed on her desk. "And here I thought that you'd mysteriously developed some kind of capacity for experiencing empathy and expressing human sympathy overnight. I forget that such emotions are signs of intelligent mammals and not common to the unfortunate and intellectually _under endowed_ members of family Mustelidae. My mistake, Monsieur Ferret." Hermione shoved his feet off the wood so hard his chair rocked back onto two of its legs, his arms and legs flailing to keep balance until it landed heavily back onto the carpet.

Draco's fingers clenched into the cushions of the armrests once he was sure his seat was stable again. He growled, the grin from before resuming its more natural state of that foul sneer.

"Enough with the pleasantries. It's late and I'm looking to get home. Sign the fucking paperwork and I'll be on my way."

Nonchalantly, she flipped open the topmost folder, eyes scanning over the print.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be so late that we're doing this if _you_ weren't so late in getting here."

Growing irritated at her proximity sooner than usual this evening, Draco pushed himself back to his feet and made to wander around her small office. With one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, he meandered over to a mid-sized bookshelf. It had several reference tomes - ' _Curse Identification, Removal, Quarantine, and You!' -_ interspersed with personal objects and knickknacks that belonged to the insufferable bitch reading over his revision of her proposals for getting a new supply of some of the rarer ingredients she used in her brews to aid these useless Aurors in their artefact search and rescue missions. Draco plucked an enchanted snow globe from the top of the shelf, quirking an eyebrow when he saw that it was of the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch with several teeny tiny dots of red and green flying around frantically, even through the cascade of fake magical snow raining down on the scene.

"Thought you didn't much care for Quidditch, Granger."

He squinted, trying to see if the team members were actually supposed to be anyone in particular or they were just representing the different house colors. His curious look turned into a grimace when he thought he could make out 'POTTER' across the back of one of the red billowing capes.

"I don't. It's a truly barbaric game masquerading as a sport that creates unnecessary rivalries between people that would otherwise likely get on fairly well," she responded flatly, scribbling her signature on one paper before closing the folder and turning to the next.

"The same could be said of any sport." Draco eyed the trinket again, his brain making sense of the tiny lettering until he realized that it was actually a captured scene of one of the Slytherin versus Gryffindor games he'd played in years ago. He snorted and shook the globe once more for good measure, angering the enchanted snowflakes within and sending them and the tiny people inside into a bit of a spin before placing it back in its spot. "In any case, I'm flattered that you would keep such a memento to remember me by. My flying prowess was always much talk amongst the women folk of the school as I understand it, I'm not surprised that even a bookworm such as yourself was affected. S'no shame in it."

At first, she had no idea what he was blabbering on about, but when she looked up to see him smirking at the globe on her bookcase, she couldn't help the derisive noise that tugged itself from her throat. It immediately drew his attention and a frown.

"You should have a closer look at that one, Malfoy. And think very hard." When he was obviously resisting doing just that, she elaborated, going back to signing off on the proposals as she spoke. "That was the closing game of the season that year. Our houses tied the game up till that point with the cup on the line." She could envision Draco's eyes widening as she painted the picture, one she was sure he remembered _very_ well. The amusement crept steadily into her voice and she couldn't help it – rather she didn't want to.

"You and Harry had both spotted the Snitch and were very nearly neck and neck. Elbows. Heels. Fists. A bit of a brawl between you two if I do recall, each trying to get one up on the other to capture it and win the game. You almost had it, your fingertips just brushing those little buzzing wings, ready to close in just a second before Harry could, then **_BAM!_ ** Bludger clean to the side of your pointy face, thanks to your very own teammate. You went to the medical wing, Harry caught the Snitch, and the rest, as they say, was history." As an afterthought she added, "Ron gave me that for Christmas that year."

Hermione snuck a peek at him then, delighted with the heated glare of outrage trying to burn up the globe from the inside out.

"Were the rumors true? Was it really Adrian Pucey? I'm not much for gossip, you know, but the girls all chattered about it saying something about it being because you were 'boffing' his girlfriend at the time..."

"You should stick to your books. They seem to be your only friends that don't contain masses of misinformation, even if _they_ don't help with your stunted social graces," he growled warningly.

"Mmm, so you _weren't_ boffing then?"

"Sign the fucking papers."

Hermione peered up at him, her nose pointed to the last couple of documents but her eyes zeroed in on his fuming face, making no move to hide the satisfaction of her victory over this particular spat. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much..."

Draco grit his teeth and clenched his knuckles so tightly they audibly popped. Of course he wasn't boffing one of his house mate's girlfriends. He may have been a lot of things, but a cheat was not one of them. He'd very adamantly refrained from maintaining any kind of serious dating relationship while in school, though before the insanity of the war took off, it was no secret that he did indulge in some of the physical perks that often came of being in a relationship. Be that as it may, he was no scumbag. Women that were spoken for were just that and not to mention that no kind of bint was worth all the trouble that came with trying to steal them away. Be it truth or lie, though, he knew she didn't actually give a damn so he just ignored the insinuation altogether.

"The. Papers. Granger."

Sighing disinterestedly, Hermione went back to scribbling her signature.

"Yes yes yes, I'm almost done then you can go home. This is the last – wait. No, wait a moment." Her brows dipped and a deep frown stole all her amusement away, eyes darting over the print several times then shooting up to stare hard at the blond still milling around her keepsakes. "You revised this."

"As one typically does when they review documents for _revisions_. I'm afraid I didn't commit your dozens of requests this time around to memory, which one is that?" He knew exactly which document she was looking at, and while part of him had changed it to be spiteful, the other part of him did actually revise it with real professionalism in mind. He did have a business to help run after all.

"Don't give me your shite." The gloves were off, he did this on purpose! "The Re'em blood. Your counter proposal is a doubled amount of Salamander blood in its stead. You can't substitute for Re'em blood and you know it!"

Draco rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the bookshelf. "You _can_ and **_you_ ** know that. Don't even try to convince me that you don't. Your marks in potions were barely behind mine, which as we both know, were top of the class."

"They're not the same!" She gestured at the paper in front of her with a lip curled in disgust. "You can't just switch out these two things so casually! The Aurors need the extra boost and protection when they bring in these artefacts for me to examine and I won't just agree to jeopardizing their safety because you want to save a few Galleons!"

"A _few_ Galleons?" He huffed. "We're not shitting money, woman! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to actually get blood from a Re'em, one – without killing it, and two – without _getting_ killed? Also, there's the little task of finding one first. I don't see you on any of the expeditions going to corral them, so until they become more readily available to sit and have some tea with, you'll just have to make do."

"Dammit, Malfoy!" Hermione slammed her hands onto the desk, jumping to her feet and raising her voice in outrage. "I thought we were past this! I know you don't like me, but these are people's lives we're gambling with when you refuse such a simple request!"

"Please! As though it were about you." Draco snorted, angry now that she would even think to question his professionalism in this manner because of personal grudges. With no shortage of huffing and puffing, he stomped up to the other side of her desk, waving an accusatory finger at her. "Just because you don't have to consider the costs of these things you're always asking for doesn't mean I have the same luxury! Everything I sign off on to supply your silly little department with comes to you essentially for free even though _somewhere_ in the line we still have to pay our scouts to locate and secure the areas containing our resources, our gatherers to go in and collect everything as carefully and efficiently as possible, and our potioneers to evaluate the quality of everything they procure! Your Aurors don't even provide the security that's required to obtain something as rare as blood from a Re'em because they're too busy doing something akin to twiddling their thumbs up their arses with other shite tasks the bloody Head of Office has them running around doing! You'll use Salamander blood, or you'll have nothing at all." He was leaning forward, lips curled off his teeth in a snarl much closer to her than when he'd initially started his angry tirade.

Hermione narrowed her eyes dangerously. Her first instinct was to spit something venomous his way, but she really needed this ingredient to do her job properly and she wasn't petty enough to lose any chance of that just for the satisfaction of dressing down the man in front of her. Nostrils flared, she tried cooling her temper and speaking reasonably.

"You can't substitute it – not equally," she said.

"Which is why I've doubled the allotment for the Salamander's blood to accommodate for the brewing strength you would lose between the two," he grit out as if he were speaking to a First Year.

"They don't function the same, you bloody twat!"

So much for that then.

"A Salamander is a _lizard_. A Re'em is _bovine._ While I know understanding magical creatures was never your forte, what with the penchant for them wanting to kill you, they are two _very_ separate species!" she hissed. "Yes, many of their magical properties are very similar but they're not, and never should be, considered interchangeable! I've no idea what kind of effects the substitution could have on the potions and this is not a line of work where experimentation is a good thing!"

"Well either your bloody Aurors will have to learn how to actually be competent at their jobs or they'll have to leech off of yours when you alter the fucking brew to use what I give you!"

Hermione faltered, if only for a second. Did he just compliment her competency? She shook her head and clutched the offensive paper in hand, shaking it at him.

"This is not negotiable."

Draco growled, glaring hard at the paper being waved in his face.

"You're right, it's not. Take it or leave it." He snatched up the other papers in their respective folders and turned on his heel to exit the office with another loud slam of her door.

This Merlin forsaken woman always found a way to weasel her way under his skin and he wasn't in the mood for it today. It was Thursday, they only had one more day in the week and he'd rather not have to finish out the work week as stressfully as it began. The accountants were harassing him a lot as of late, as though they had no other things to worry about aside from making his life a veritable living hell. They always complained about his expenses and always while ignoring his reports as well as proposals to cut costs – such as partnering with the Auror department for security like he'd mentioned before.

Draco had several ideas to streamline things between departments and make improvements on profits as well as safety but everyone was content to ignore him and just peg him for being deceitful and dastardly. It was the same thing they've been doing the past few years since he became part of the team. He’d been quite accommodating to internal requests, but it wasn't cheap. And, while _he_ was expected to operate his department and his team within a budget, it sure as shit seemed like nobody else was held to these same standards. It was like being in school or under his father's thumb again. Everyone plugged him into such a particular role and expected him to play it to a tee that they were wholeheartedly content to ignore any efforts he'd made to contribute and generally do well by his fellow employees in their own endeavors.

Well fine.

If that's what they all wanted, that was just fine. He would play his role and lock down the resources tighter than Granger's arse. That would shed some light onto just how much of a drain The Ministry was on itself...or at least it would if anyone would fucking listen to him and look at his reports.

Draco powered his way through the office, ignoring the curious stares that the staff had given him on his way back to the lift. He massaged the bridge of his nose, waiting for the damned thing to get there while quietly lamenting to himself about the huge pain that woman was. He was glad that the meetings here weren't frequent, though he couldn't help but revisit the witch's request. As much as he loathed to admit, she was correct about the comparability of the two ingredients. Re'em blood was definitely much more potent than Salamander and even though they had similar effects, there was really no true substitution for the former. He was sure he could concoct something that would imitate what she needed, though not with Salamander blood alone, even that would require at least a fraction of Re'em blood...

"Malfoy! Wait!"

His head turned, glancing over his shoulder at the call to see a frizzy haired Granger tromping towards him with the paper clutched in her hand and a rather sour look on her face. He ignored the elevator car's arrival ding and turned to her, surveying her impromptu arrival. "It's late, I hope you have a reason for making me miss my ride?"

Hermione growled and shoved the document at him again, strangling her quill in her other hand as she tapped it against her thigh. " _My_ counter proposal."

Unsure what he was expecting, Draco plucked the parchment from her tightly fisted grip and allowed his eyes to roam across the page. When he found that she'd added one quarter of her original asking amount of the Re'em blood as a supplement to the amount he proposed for the Salamander, he realized she'd also come to his earlier conclusion. He hid his smirk at that; yes, there was a reason Hermione Granger had nipped at his heels in Advanced Potions. With a curt nod, he borrowed her quill and initialed off on the alteration to his document and let her sign where she needed to as well.

"Right, then. Pleasure doing business with you, Granger." He smiled sweetly at her, tucking the paper in with some of the others in one of the folders.

 

* * *

 

Friday.

Finally.

What a hell of a week.

Hermione toweled off her hair, eying her shower heated skin in the mirror as she got ready for work. She'd been having a particularly difficult time assisting the Aurors with the identification of a cursed bracelet that was implicated in a handful of attempted murders on the south side of town. While they finally had the piece of jewelry in custody, it didn't make her feel any better to not have a solution.

Heaving a huge sigh, she divested herself of her sopping wet hair towel and the one wrapped about her midsection, tossing them over her drying rack to get on with her routine. Life after war was a strange thing, even this many years after the fact. For one, it’d become customary to give herself a once over in the foggy vanity mirror prior to starting every dull work day. Appraising the weight finally starting to stick on her body after so much habitual rationing was her new daily survival check and, though it was worlds different from checking on her literal state of being alive, she couldn’t confidently say aloud which she preferred. So much of her childhood was steeped in war that, while peace was surely welcome, the unfamiliarity of it...well, some days it left her floundering.

Shaking herself from that familiar spiral of thoughts, Hermione moved on. She left the image of her naked, scarred, and slowly plumping body in the back of her mind in favor of padding back into her bedroom to get dressed. While slipping on a fresh set of knickers and bra she was interrupted by a sharp tap-tap-tapping at her bedroom window. With a glance at the clock by her bed to check the time--finding it was still quite early--she turned back to the small shadow fluttering at her windowsill.

"What on earth.." As soon as she slid open the pane, a tiny Ministry owl slipped in with a letter that bore a violet shaded circle of wax with The Minister's own personal seal pressed into it. Instantly, curiosity turned to dread. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good. Normal Ministry correspondence was always delivered with the official seal, anything coming directly from Kingsley himself was typically something requiring immediate attention, and oftentimes, concern.

Hermione gingerly took the letter from the small bird, fed it a few treats she kept near the window, and sent it on its way before flopping onto the edge of her mattress with letter in hand. She flipped it over a few times, feeling the weight of it and deepening her frown. Plucking up some old fashioned Gryffindor courage, she popped the seal and unfolded the parchment.

There were actually two letters enclosed. The first to meet her eyes was one addressed personally to her from her friend, The Minister himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

 

_**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-.** _

_Hermione,_

_Enclosed alongside this note is a mandate that is being enacted as of today that will affect you quite personally. I felt it important, beyond our professional relationship – as your friend – that you should be one of the first few people privy to the information prior to its official announcement later this morning and that it should come from me. The notice following my letter to you will have been delivered to the vast majority of the other affected witches and wizards by the time you come in to the office today. As you read that letter, please understand that it was with an extremely heavy heart that I agreed to this decision and I fought for any other alternative available but was left only with this._

_I know I needn't caution you to keep this information quiet until the announcement today, but please remember to do so as there will be plenty of excitement later on as it is. I'm sorry for this, I hope you will continue to keep me in your heart as your friend after today. If you are in need of anything, please come see me._

_Sincerely,_

_Kingsley_

_**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-.** _

 

Hermione gulped and stared at the letter, her hands having started trembling somewhere shortly after reading the first line. The new Ministry that Kingsley was trying very hard to run fairly with a sense of justice was not quite floundering, but it surely wasn’t thriving and doing as well as she knew he hoped it would. Even after two wizarding wars and so many years of conflict, people were still resistant to change, even if it was for the better. Hermione knew he struggled still with some members of the council, too. She did, however, have faith that her friend would only make the decisions that were best for them all.

So then, why was she so terrified to flip to the next page?

"Oh, come off it," she said to herself in encouragement. "How bad could it really be?"

Not allowing herself to fret over it any longer, she flipped to the next page and was instantly greeted by The Ministry seal printed at the very top of the paper.

 

**_.-"-. .-"-. .-"-.  
_ **

_Dear Citizen of Wizarding Britain,_

_As we are all aware, post-war times can be a difficult and trying thing. While it is not uncommon for societies such as ours to feel growing pains as we move forward to a bigger and better state in our recovery, it has been a matter of concern to us for some time now that we are not experiencing the normal level of growth to our community that is needed for which to properly thrive._

_As your Ministry, we have monitored and researched trends to determine how we are doing and where we will be in years to come to ensure that we will remain a healthy and stable wizarding society and have regrettably found that we are not repopulating at nearly the rate which is required to maintain nor expand. The factors as to why this may be are limitless and, while we understand there may be myriad personal reasons that are affecting each individual's decisions in abstaining from expanding our community and next generation of witches and wizards, we unfortunately have deemed it necessary to take action._

_You are receiving this letter on this day,_ **_Friday, August 1st of 2003_ ** _, to formally advise you of the enactment of_ **_The Recovery, Reconstruction, and Repopulation Act_ ** _(hereby referred to as "_ **_The Act_ ** _"). Under_ **_The Act_ ** _, single and married individuals between the ages of 18 and 40, as of this date, will be drafted in the restoration of our community._

 **_For Single Individuals:_ ** _We have researched with the wizarding world's top Arithmancers as well as our partners in the Muggle Science Division to determine appropriate means of recovery and have, as such, paired unmarried persons together to create the most optimal matches for reproduction with regards to individual and familial history including, but not limited to: hereditary strengths and weaknesses, social stature, income, and physical and mental health._

_We have worked very hard to match single individuals with appropriate partners in order to create our best chance for survival as a community during these hard times. We understand that there may be cause for you, as an individual, to protest these matches, but please understand that the decisions are made for our best interests as a whole and they are also non-negotiable. You and your determined partner will have options in regards to the marriage ceremony and be allotted a maximum of three (3) years from the date of the ceremony to produce at least one (1) offspring to integrate into our community._

_Please see the attached appointment sheet for your meeting time at which point you will have the opportunity to meet your future spouse and speak with a counselor to express any questions or concerns you may have._

**_For Married Individuals:_ ** _In accordance with our need to repopulate the wizarding community, it will be mandated that currently married couples falling into the age group specified above will be required to produce at least one (1) offspring to integrate into our community within a maximum of three (3) years from the enactment of_ **_The Act_ ** _if not currently raising or with child. Please understand that the decisions made are for our best interests as a whole and they are also non-negotiable._

_Please see the attached appointment sheet for your meeting time at which point you will have the opportunity to speak with a counselor to express any questions or concerns you may have._

**_To All Of Our Citizens:_ ** _We wish to express that it was with no light discussion that we made this decision and that we appreciate your complete and total cooperation in this matter. Please take heart that you will all be known as heroes to our society because of your compliance and assistance you offer us in these times._

_Respectfully,_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

_**.-"-. .-"-. .-"-.** _

 

The paper behind the main letter appeared to be her appointment sheet. It listed her pertinent identifying demographic information and in large, dooming lettering several spaces below that, showed her appointment date and time:

**_Friday, August 1, 2003, 10:00AM, Ministry Building Level 5, International Magical Office of Law, Meeting Room 3._ **

She read it.

She'd probably read it about a dozen times in the expanse of a few minutes still trying to make sense of the words.

Did this say what she thought it said?

The Ministry was rolling out a law to get the community to _procreate?_

A forced marriage law coupled with forcing people to have babies...that's what this was. That's all that this was, just with a fancy name to draw the eye and mind away from the reality of how archaic it was!

There were many emotions that coursed through her at the processing of the notice: fear at being subjected to an arranged marriage, disgust that the Ministry of Magic felt they had the right to impose such a thing onto their citizens, outrage at the idea that she was just expected to roll over and take it in the proverbial arse.

"Bugger this bullshit!"

Hermione felt her blood pumping and pounding in her ears, knowing if she were to look in the mirror all her skin would be heated and angry from the thoughts now ripping and whirling through in her head. She spared a glance to her bedside clock – quarter past 6 – nobody should be in the office yet but something told her that Kingsley would be...and he'd very likely be expecting her. Folding the letters back up with no small amount of force to the movements, Hermione gathered her wits, got herself dressed, and Flooed to The Ministry to have a word with her ‘friend’.

 

* * *

 

 Draco stomped down the hall towards The Minister's office. His footfalls were loud and obtrusive in a way he couldn’t be arsed to care about as his eyes focused only on the letter in his hand rather than where he was going. It was because of this that he nearly plowed into the side of a familiar bespectacled Auror.

"Eyes up, Malfoy." The comment was stern but not too harsh, the voice sounding irritated but not necessarily at him.

Draco's head snapped up from perusing the letter again and was met with the sharp green eyes of Harry Potter. Their working relationship was relatively non-existent but at least over the past few years the two had come to a mutual understanding to the point where they weren't constantly fighting and trying to kill one another. The fact that he had a better relationship with the boy-who-unfortunately-lived and saw barely once in a good month than with Granger whom he had to make trips to see at least twice, but usually more, was unfortunate. Although, in his daily grind full of blatantly distrustful, not to mention _rude_ people, he supposed he would take what he could get. It was a tiring thing to be such a snot to _everyone_ anyway and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy riling her up in particular for her banter as well as provide a sense of comfortable familiarity to his day to day. He’d have stopped it ages ago if she, herself, hadn’t egged him on by prodding at him the few times he did attempt to let their differences die out; maybe he wasn’t the only one that needed it.

"Potter, Potterette," he said after finally taking a look around and seeing Potter there with his wife.

Both looked especially tired and irate but beyond where the pair stood, there was a smattering of other people milling around the waiting area in front of The Minister's closed door. It was another of those wooden doors with the silly looking mottled privacy glass – as though that actually helped provide any real privacy – and it was most obviously closed and locked. He couldn't hear anything but he did make out some frantically moving blobs of color behind the glass. A fine blond brow lifted in question and he turned back to the Auror and his wife again.

"Who's in there ripping into Shacklebolt?"

"Hermione," Ginny answered, arms folded across her chest. "We both got here shortly after she did."

Harry added, "Just in time to see her walk in and slam the door. She's been in there for at least an hour."

Draco frowned, glanced at the door again, then back to the redhead who was regarding him carefully as she always did – she never seemed to know what to make of him. Perhaps if he didn't harass her husband and best friend as much as he did, they'd get on better between themselves, talking about her latest escapades in the Holyhead Harpies and whatall. But he did. So they didn't.

He held up his letter and appointment sheet for the couple to see.

"I take it you all got one of these also?"

Harry nodded and took a seat in one of the nearby chairs, finally figuring that the woman in Kingsley's office was not going to be out any time soon.

"It's a bunch of bull-" Ginny started, only to be cut off by her husband.

_"Gin-"_

"-a bunch of _junk_ ," she amended what she was going to say.

"It's good to know that _this_ is what we fought for,” Harry said. “Signing up for a breeding farm."

Draco eyed the other man and took a seat down a few chairs. Maybe it was just because it was too early for him to put on his goody two shoes face, but Potter's open disdain for any kind of Ministry orders – to _him,_ Draco Malfoy, of all people – was a rare sight indeed.

"It's a bit of a kick in the bollocks I imagine – _for you_." He didn't even flinch at the look Harry gave him, merely providing a shrug before sinking into his chair more comfortably. "I'm serious. Arranged marriages are nothing new with The Ministry nor with many of the older wizarding families. Just ask your wife if you don't believe me."

"Our family hasn't believed in arranged marriages for a long time, Malfoy. Unlike _yours,"_ Ginny made no move to hide the disgust in her voice at the very thought. "They were mostly done for political reasons and that silly idea of 'blood purity'."

"Why are you here?" Harry butted in before the two got into it.

He was already annoyed at the fact that this was all happening and didn't feel like dealing with another point of contest today as well. While it wasn't going to affect them as much as the witch who, evidently had at least 90 minutes of things to say about it also, he still felt there was something innately wrong about being given timelines and deadlines on things as important as starting a family.

"Same as you probably, Potter. I have questions and preferred to go straight to the source," Draco answered with a drawl, stretching his feet out in front of him. "And maybe say a thank you as well."

"Oh, of course such a believer of the 'old ways' would have no problems with this," Ginny snapped.

"I never said I didn't have any problems with it, Red. I think it's a bloody awful idea to force people to marry someone for shit like this." He flashed Ginny an infuriating smirk, "But it just may have gotten me out of my previous engagement and if that's the case, I might go skipping down the hall. Maybe even click my heels together in celebration!"

"Who in Godric's name would willingly marry you?" she said before she could stop herself, earning a half-hearted warning from Harry.

Draco's smirk transformed into a dark scowl at the redhead. With the boy wonder sitting awkwardly in a spot between the three of them, his glare had to span the distance. "Well, as you so glibly mentioned, my family is still one of the more old fashioned lot. There was a previous engagement made between my parents and the Greengrass' that I've been trying to figure some way out of since it was signed and this may have just made my bloody day – provided it supersedes that arrangement anyway."

"Greengrass? I thought Daphne was already married-"

"Not Daph, the little one, Tori. Astoria." Draco grimaced even just saying the name.

Harry's eyes were going back and forth between the pair's conversation, watching it slip from friendly to menacing and back with silent amusement until he decided to ask, "What's wrong with Astoria?"

Gray eyes zeroed in on Potter and his frown deepened. "She's young and she _acts_ it. She's got the personality of a stale biscuit and she's utterly infatuated with me."

"Save for the stale biscuit part, she sounds just like your cuppa tea." Ginny sneered. "No, scratch that, even with the stale biscuit part."

Draco snorted, but didn't give her the satisfaction of letting her get him riled up.

"S'all well and good when you're in school maybe.” He shrugged and added, “She doesn’t understand what being tied to the Malfoy name would do to her now. With this mandate, I can plead my case and be released from the pool of eligible bachelors and be done with her and this nonsense.”

Both Potters’ expressions softened somewhat.

“The letter said nothing about exceptions, Malfoy,” Harry pointed out.

“There are _always_ exceptions to the rule, Potter,” Draco scoffed. “Always a contingency and always a way out of a contract.” He would know, what with being steeped in paperwork day in and day out. “Besides, I _do_ actually prefer a woman that can keep up with the conversation. Someone with some fire to her and not just an unimpressive face in the crowd or a daft bint willing to spread her legs for a family fortune. Not bloody likely to come across that with this marriage law bollocks."

His tone had dropped to almost a wistful note as he said the last and there was a disconcerting feeling that something in the air had shifted from their normal light squabbling to something slightly more serious. The feeling of it sent Draco shifting in his seat, realizing his slip and searching for something to say to save face, though when the silencing charm wore off from the Minister’s office, he was saved by the bell – or rather by Hermione's animated shrieking.

" _\--this is bloody BULLSHITE!"_

" _Miss Granger!"_

" _Don't ‘Miss Granger’ me! You can't pull the boss card AND the friend card all at the same bleedin’ time! This is bullshite and you know it! I'm not some broodmare to be contracted out! Honestly, after all this generation has done already, you can't seriously expect--"_

" _Hermione, I'm sorry, but it's already passed. Believe me, I tried to go a different route but I was overruled!"_

" _Overruled? YOU’RE THE BLOODY MINISTER!"_

There was a crash that sounded like a rubbish bin getting knocked around followed by an unsettling stretch of silence. Softer voices came then, no longer clear in their speech through the door. Then something sounding like sniffling. More silence and another softer set of murmurs.

The trio looked at the door, the two Potters with more than a touch of concern and Draco with the same frown he'd been sporting most of the morning thus far.

The soft sounds stopped suddenly and Draco gathered that one of the two discovered their earlier spell had fizzled away and put up another one to silence the remainder of their conversation. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose and tugged his pocket watch from its spot in his suit jacket to check the time.

Granger obviously wasn't going to be done in there any time soon and he needed to get some work done today. Regardless of the huge announcement and resulting circus that the Atrium and all floors were likely to be soon, he had no doubt that he would be expected to function as though hundreds of witches and wizards' lives _weren't_ being upended even if nobody else was.

What else was new?

Draco eyed the appointment slip in his lap again for his meeting time with his future wife, rubbing his thumb over the date and time thoughtfully:

 **_Friday, August 1, 2003, 10:00AM, Ministry Building Level 5, International Magical Office of Law, Meeting Room 3_ ** _._

_'Roughly 2 hours left before the meeting...'_

He grunted and pushed to his feet to make his way to his office on that very level, idly wishing for it to be anyone but Astoria--preferably someone he didn’t mind hating. If he couldn’t wiggle out of this somehow, he’d rather not saddle someone undeserving of the Malfoy legacy.

"Where are you off to, ferret?"

Draco didn't even bother turning back around to grace the redhead with a sneer and casually flipped her a two-fingered salute as he continued towards the lift.

"Work to do, love. You and your hubby should try it some time."


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione watched the floors and walls beyond the caged elevator doors pass by on her way upstairs all the while having to remind herself to continue breathing steadily. The lift was supremely crowded, as was to be expected, and all seemed to be going to the same place. There were employees as well as regular citizens in this car and there was nothing but an eerie silence hanging over them all. It was a doomed kind of silence.

Glancing around, she saw others doing the same. They were all trying to take in the people around them, probably partially double checking if they were heading to the same destination and, the most dreaded thought of them all, contemplating which of these strangers were most likely to be their new husband or wife.

That thought nearly made her huff aloud again. There’d been far too much of that today already.

After getting out of The Minister's office - and profusely apologizing for cursing him out - Hermione sat in her own office within the Auror department for those next couple hours. She got a boat load of nothing done and instead was ranting and raving to Harry and Ginny about the new law while everyone else in the department had their own ways of dealing. Most were angry, like her, some were just terribly depressed. Others didn't seem to care one way or the other--those were the ones she understood the least.

Didn’t they understand what was about to _happen_ here?!

To avoid taking her stress out on everyone on her floor, she’d holed herself away with the company of her friends. Between the three of them, they compared the conversations they'd each had with Kingsley since they were some of the very few that had received his personal letters and the notice of the mandate early. The talk calmed her nerves and her mind some, particularly when Harry detailed the statistics that Kingsley provided to him when asked.

Apparently, the wizarding population had not only had the expected decline once the casualties of war were determined the following year, but it had _unexpectedly_ stagnated as far as growth was concerned. This wouldn't be as much of a problem if it were simply delegated to the wizarding community alone, but due to the nature of the war, it also affected much of the Muggle population. The _people_ of the country were in shorter supply and while the Muggles would continue to grow and recoup as though nothing ever happened – since for many survivors and thanks to the Obliviation teams, nothing _did_ – the wizarding population was largely stunted.

Because of Voldemort's short-lived but significant reign of terror, many of the surviving families were Purebloods and some of the more prestigious Half-Bloods with a much smaller survival rate being granted to the Muggle-born witches and wizards. Despite the lessons that should have been learned by these hard days, many of those families still wanted to stay tried and true to tradition if they decided to marry and continue their line on at all. With many Purebloods bent on breeding themselves into a delightfully pure extinction and never turning an eye to Muggles or Muggle-borns at all, it would only be a matter of time before they petered out.

Looking outside of the British community for help fared no better what with the war still being so fresh in the minds of other groups worldwide. More specifically, it was the tribal knowledge passed between those wartime survivors that this Ministry oh-so-dutifully ignored all signs and shouting of the dark wizard’s return well before his takeover of the place. To say that the British wizarding world was held in poor favor by many of the surviving allied forces would have been kinder than many words spoken elsewhere.

Immigration was at an all time low.

Without new blood coming in to help the community’s expansion and between the physical casualties and underlying fear of their own citizens that it was another fake out and--just kidding, Voldemort wasn’t dead the second time either--the picture that the council saw became all the clearer.

After what seemed to be ages of traveling for just a few floors, the lift stopped. The crosshatched gate sliding open to welcome them all to level 5.

Hermione shuddered a breath and hesitated, gazing at the hallway. This walk was now so much more daunting than usual, filled to the brim with people waiting for their appointments and their fates to be revealed. Normally, the crowd at her back would've shown some sign of impatience at her hesitance to step out, but it seemed the feeling was mutual. With a shake of her head, clearing it of the fears and doubts still lingering, she steeled herself with that age old Gryffindor courage and marched towards her destination in the International Magical Office of Law, room 3.

When Hermione reached the door with _MEETING ROOM 3_ printed in big black letters on the blurry pebbled glass, her stomach dropped. Finally faced with the reality of what was about to happen, she twisted the knob and entered before she listened to her gut and turned tail to run. As soon as she viewed what lay beyond, there was a shuddering disconnect. Her head had trouble making sense of the picture before her for several moments. So long, in fact, that the familiar white-blond head turned her way, his gray eyes narrowing when he recognized her face.

"Lost, Granger?" Draco spoke before the caseworker behind the desk could even acknowledge her.

"I apologize, I must have the wrong room," Hermione stammered, her mouth several steps ahead of her brain.

Even as she said it, she knew somewhere in the back of her mind and the pit of her stomach--now churning with the most acidic bile she’d ever experienced--that she didn't.

This was it.

Hermione stared hard at her appointment sheet. Then the door. Then the sheet again. She stirred up the rotation by adding a solid look at the clock hanging on the far wall that clearly read ‘10:00’. At last, she set her sights on the blond man of her nightmares where he was seated before her, glaring daggers her way.

Sheet.

Clock.

Blond.

Sheet…

_Clock…_

**_Blond..._ **

"No..this...this is the right room. My appointment is at 10. Meeting Room 3." It was mumbled so quietly almost only she could hear it, though the disbelief in her tone was clear as crystal.

Draco snorted and pushed off from his seat to where she stood like a deer in headlights and snatched the paper from her hand.

"I don't think so,” he said, “ _my_ appointment is at 10."

He haughtily looked over her paperwork, confident and ready to point out her error, only to find that she was not, in fact, mistaken at all. Gray eyes flitted across the paper over and over until the words blurred and made little to no sense any longer. Reaching into his jacket pocket to retrieve his own sheet he held them side by side to see a perfectly matching pair of appointment times, both leading to this very room at this very time.

_‘No.’_

Morgana's left tit.

 **_This_ ** was not what he wanted when he meant he’d take someone he could hate.

 _‘No, no, no,_ **_anything_ ** _but this.’_

If possible, Draco's already fair skin paled to a sickly shade. His mouth dried out and eyes turned into horrified saucers that couldn't peel themselves away from Hermione's equally shocked face. The world narrowed around them. Sounds and lights dulled in each of their senses. The air between them grew stagnant and cold, sinking into their very bones. Neither could move. They could hardly even breathe.

Somehow, even though a multitude of possibilities had crossed both of their minds when contemplating the situation before, _this_ was never one of them.

And yet...here they were.

If both hadn't been in such a state of shock they might have appreciated the irony of it all. Instead, they just stared, unblinking like statues, at the impossible.

"Miss Granger? Mister Malfoy?" the caseworker spoke up, succeeding in getting both of their attentions. She motioned to the seats before the large desk with an oblivious and patronizing smile. "Please have a seat and we can begin."

Hermione gulped, huge dark eyes stuck on the man next to her while she shuffled robotically to the chair indicated, too gobsmacked to do much else.

Draco watched her move, still frozen in his spot until his thoughts finally caught up with everything and the gears in his head started whirring back into action. He felt a sick wave of nausea wash over him with the second, third, and fourth moments that he understood what was happening.

The Ministry wanted two of the most incompatible people since Harry Potter and Voldemort themselves to prance down the fucking aisle together.

' _Bloody buggering hell...'_

"Mister Malfoy?"

Draco's face turned in the direction of the woman's voice. He saw her smile again politely and gesture to the empty seat he'd occupied earlier. He saw Granger sitting in the one next to it, clutching onto her letter with trembling hands and her gaze locked in a forward position. His legs moved methodically, his subconscious taking him to his chair but his feet dragging like a man in chains.

That's what he was, after all, what they both were.

_Doomed._

 

* * *

 

"-have an option to have a ceremony or a court wedding. If you opt to have a formal ceremony, please keep in mind anything beyond the individual officiating it will be provided by yourselves. We will waive all normal fees associated with applying for and obtaining a marriage license and provide someone to perform the binding ceremony, but all the extra frills would be on your end-"

He was staring. Hermione _felt_ him staring, glaring really. She did her best to keep her own stare forward on the caseworker who was too absorbed in reading through her script to make any considerate amount of eye contact. It was the weight of that stare she felt so keenly heating her side that urged her gaze to wander. Floating to her right where the wizard-- _her future husband,_ she thought dismally--sat slouched next to her, making no motion to hide how hard he was scowling as though _she_ were the one that plotted this all out in the first place.

"-ceremony must be performed within two weeks of today's date. Once the union has been consummated, your official paperwork will manifest the Ministry's seal and be legalized through the court. Now, I have a packet of information here that you both will want to look over-"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"What was what, Miss Granger?" Their caseworker looked up from sliding the thick stack of papers towards the future couple.

"That last part. Can you repeat that?"

"Of course. You'll have two weeks from today-"

"No, no, no, after that."

The woman quirked an eyebrow, speaking slowly, "Your paperwork will manifest-"

" _No_. Before that. Th-th-the part in the middle. Did you say we have to consummate the union before it will be legal?"

Draco, still scowling, answered before their caseworker could with as much malice as he could muster, "She did, Granger. You mean to tell me that in all those fancy books of yours, you've never read up on a wizard's wedding? What? You just figure you would never have need of the information?"

The nervousness and sheer terror that had bubbled up at the thought of _having_ to have sex with Draco Malfoy in the next two weeks like it were some kind of dental appointment drained out of her when his familiar tone flipped a switch inside of her. That tone was the one he used when he was looking for a fight, just like last night. It was dark and low and slick and she knew what it was searching for but she couldn’t find it in herself to ignore it.

Unlike last night, Hermione was ready for a fight. In fact, she _welcomed_ it.

" _Sorry_ , Malfoy, I just happened to think I wouldn't need those details any time soon, what with actually having a significant and meaningful career path beyond political posturing.” The insults poured out of her like water. “My agenda was quite unlike your being auctioned off by your parents to wed the daughter of the highest bidder. Some blubbering child that follows you about like a lost pup looking for a bit of a cuddle, wasn’t it?"

Draco sneered at her mocking, sitting upright in his seat, fingers digging into the armchair as he responded in kind.

"Oh? What's that you've got going for yourself again, then? _That's_ right. Your dank, moldy closet of an office in the corner a department whose daft detectives bring you cursed baubles formed under the crushing pressure of an ogre’s taint. All that so you can solve some stupid whodunit case of theirs while they waltz off with the credit after paying you your alms. Right. You’re right. Very good lineup you’ve got there, Granger. I’m very jealous.”

"Unfortunately, not all of us can have the ever prestigious task of wearing the most illustrious and over-decorated title for an overgrown quill pusher! Some of us have to _actually_ take action!" Hermione growled back without a moment's hesitation, strangling the ink out of her appointment sheet as little flecks of gold burst and flared to life in her dark irises. "It's a shame you didn't make the cut to become an Auror, Malfoy. The boys could really use your unique take on things. They're not very well versed in their 'turning coat and running away' part of the job – actually, I think they're severely lacking in that area. Think you could spare a moment one day to tutor?"

"Action!" He snorted, trying his damnedest to ignore the bait she dangled before him. He wasn't a coward, maybe once, but not anymore. How dare she even try to go there! " _Action?_ The only soddin' 'action' you're getting in that office is pining after the Weasel's arse when he leaves from giving you another bullshite task that he and the other wankers are too stupid to figure out for themselves so he can go shag his latest conquest! Yeah, all that 'action' you have to take every day sure is leaving your _own_ desk caked in dust." Draco leaned forward, voice even lower, gray eyes cold and narrowed. "Oh, 'cept it _isn't_ , is it? None of that ‘action’ sees you doing anything beyond shuffling papers and playing with pretty baubles all day. Mighty useful you are there, love, keeping the essentials from floating off. Preach it to Shacklebolt and he might even give you that raise you're still pining for."

"How _DARE_ you!" Hermione snarled. "You're nothing but a snot nosed, spoiled brat!"

Draco met her growing rage, inch for inch, not backing down for a second when she encroached on his space. He saw the fingers of her right hand twitch and he knew that if she thought she could get away with it, she would've drawn on him and hexed him into oblivion.

"I would come back with my classic ‘bushy haired, bossy, know-it-all’, but I think that’s giving you too much credit these days!"

A deep flush crept up from Hermione’s chest into her neck and cheeks and the golden flecks in her eyes exploded to create the most wild shade of amber possible in a human eye. Her glare turned positively feral.

"You absolute _knob!_ "

They were both on their feet in a second standing toe to toe, nose to nose, with Hermione jabbing a finger into Draco's suit-clad chest while he--not feeling any kind of need to back down--towered over her darkly.

"And you're a prude with a broomstick shoved so far up her arse, you can't do anything but walk like the uptight bint you are!"

"That insult doesn't even make sense, you loathsome, egotistical, over inflated, tiny pricked, _twat!_ "

"You can't talk about my prick _and_ call me a twat you bleedin’ _cu_ -"

" **_MISTER MALFOY! MISS GRANGER! You will refrain from any further commentary this instant if you value your jobs!_ ** "

The booming voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt a mere metre or so away startled the both of them out of their heated argument.

The surprise of The Minister's appearance was plain on Hermione's face while Draco's held an only slightly lessened scowl than before. Standing in the same robes Hermione had seen him in earlier that morning, Kingsley was holding a violet colored sheet of paper with several pronounced creases in its surface – a memo – and looking between the two of them with a deep, disappointed frown.

To Hermione, it was obvious that he was standing there as an official and not as the friend that had comforted her during her break down that very same day. It was that reason, and that reason only, that made her bite her tongue before she turned her lashings on him as well. She wasn't cowed by his position, but she wasn’t a fool either. Hermione bit back the several choice words that she very much felt like spitting his way.

Kingsley looked skeptical at her lack of resistance, his dark eyes darting between the two red faced adults and the caseworker who'd snuck the memo to him during the future couple's row. He had to give her points for effort in trying her best not to express her immense discomfort at the display. In more ways than one he was responsible for this. He had a feeling that this particular match should’ve been handled personally but was hoping for the best from both. Draco had come leaps and bounds from where he started as the bigoted, prejudiced boy he once was – war would do that for some, though apparently still not enough to make this entire thing unnecessary.

"Mrs. Leighsworth, will you give us a moment please?" The woman nodded rapidly and made one of the quickest exits he'd ever seen. Kingsley waited until the door shut behind her before turning back to the pair expectantly. When he was met only with hard stares from both parties he shook his head and entered more fully into the room to take a seat at the vacated desk. "If I say that I expected better from the both of you, would that reveal me as being too optimistic?"

Draco spoke first, face morphing into one of astonishment and a bit of outrage when he did, "You _knew?!_ You knew, of all the people to get saddled with in this clown show, I was to be with _her?!_ "

Hermione sneered before she could help it and added in agreement, "Yes, that would have been _very_ optimistic of you, Minister."

Kingsley turned a stern eye to their still standing forms and pointed two fingers at each chair. When they made no move to sit, he raised a thick eyebrow and fixed them both with a look that suggested he had no patience for their petulance. They sat.

"Let me be honest with you both-"

"That would be a nice start," Hermione interrupted so scathingly that even Draco turned a questioning look her way.

"Let me be _blunt_ with you." He altered his wording. "I'm not sure if Harry told you, either of you, but we are in dire straits as a wizarding community. These marriages and subsequent offspring will do everything to ensure that we survive and don't become just another page in a history book for other magical schools throughout the world to learn of the once great magical population that resided here-- _past tense_."

Hermione shifted in her chair, leaning forward on the edge of her seat and planting her palms heavily on the desk.

"Yes, I've heard all about the bloody percentages and projected decline and our sodding extinction if we don't go on with it! I dare say that I've even begun to understand this ridiculous display of antiquated laws overstepping the basic human rights of all involved, but _this?!_ ” She gestured animatedly between her and Draco. “You honestly expect _this_ to work in the midst of it all? Not bloody likely! You can spout all the ‘for the greater goods’ you can muster, but if all the matches were this poorly made then you've just gone and buggered us all!"

Draco watched her ranting and raving figure, imagining this was a fraction of the same fury that she'd unleashed on the man earlier. Her huge curly head of hair seemed even bigger in her anger, as though she were making herself even larger and more intimidating to her enemies like some kind of wild beast. The thought made him snort, earning a fiery glare from the woman in question. He waved her off dismissively and turned to The Minister with deceptive calm although he was just as livid.

"Minister, she's right. We're more apt to throttle each other before we would stand to have children together. I mean look at her!"

Hermione made a disgruntled noise and redirected her anger to her future spouse.

"Me?! If I wanted to marry a temperamental, pasty skinned snake, I would've proposed to the Bloody Baron by now!"

“ _I’m_ temperamental? What about you?" Draco jabbed a finger in her direction. "You're the one who's yelling at the bleedin' Minister!"

She turned back to Kingsley and snarled, “I want a divorce!"

"We're not even married yet! _Also_ , another tidbit you missed in your lack of study, was that these vows are quite literally 'til death do you part'--"

"I don't care!"

Draco watched as her anger was dissolving into panic and it jerked at something deep in his chest. Seeing Hermione Granger coming apart before him--a witch he'd witnessed push through some of the most terrifying torture he’d never known existed with her faculties still in tact--well, it was more than a little unsettling.

"Miss Granger--"

"We'll put in in the books--" she said.

Gray eyes followed her flailing hands where they punctuated her thoughts as she prattled on. The motions were getting more and more frantic with every word she spat, her head shaking back and forth in a constant dismissal of the situation as if she could dislodge it from reality with that act alone.

"Miss Granger--"

"--schedule it after we give this fucking community it's bloody baby!"

Her chest was heaving in shallow breaths, shoulders trembling and eyes beginning to water as they darted about to spaces in front of her and at her sides, never truly focusing on any one thing. Draco wasn't sure what was plowing through that mind of hers to rattle her so deeply, but bit by bit she was crumbling before him and it was becoming too much--far too reminiscent of the only other time he’d witnessed her pressed so near to her breaking point.

" _Hermione!_ " Kingsley's shout shoved a firm wedge into Hermione's rambling and while he was glad to have her stop, the terrified expression facing him now was enough to make Draco’s heart stutter.

Hermione’s head snapped up to meet the sympathetic gaze of The Minister, of her friend, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

She hated it.

She hated _this_.

She hated the way he was looking at her now.

He was angry, that much was obvious, but it was much more than that.

There was his anger, then there was his sympathy, his regret, there was the silent wish of a man torn between what he wanted for his people and friends and what he needed to do. Hermione saw it in his eyes that he hated this as much as she did; she saw it in him that morning and she saw it in him now.

And she fucking hated it.

Her lips pressed together tightly, shoulders slumping as all the anger blew out of her to be replaced with a lead weight in her gut and a more insistent press of moisture at the backs of her eyes.

"I'm sorry," The Minister said solemnly, looking at them both in turn. "If there were another option, I would have sought it out already but...this is it."

There was still a tension in the air between them all but it had shifted, in that way that things sometimes did, to something much more serious.

Normally, Draco would find the time to egg on Granger's distress, make a quip at her expense, something scathing but overall relatively harmless. Seeing her shaking in her chair just a few steps from his, her eyes downcast towards trembling hands, seeing the clenching and unclenching of her fists around the folded letter there and the way she tugged her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it bloody...even he didn't feel like it was a good time.

The sight of her obvious, unhinged, and unmasked distress was something Draco instinctively found worrisome and he needed it to stop – whatever it took.

"You're sure we can't draw another name from the hat? I mean, for Granger, what about the Weasel--" He caught himself, startled at how much of a conscious effort it took to correct his question. "--ley?" Draco stole a glance at the witch's face out of the corner of his eye and saw her alert again, though she seemed even more horrified at that suggestion. How...odd?

"Everything is final," The Minister answered too quickly. He fiddled with one of the folders laid out on the desk where the caseworker had been before, letting the pages flutter across the pads of his fingers several times before he cleared his throat. " _I_ finalized this," he paused, making sure the both of them were looking at him again when he pointed at each to continue, "between the two of you."

"You did _what?_ " Draco was ready to yell this time. Enough for the both of them. He was halted by the Minister's hand urging that he wait, however. The emotional coaster that this ordeal was manifesting in him was giving him a migraine and burning his wick of patience at both ends.

Kingsley sighed, swiping a hand over his face, sure that he was finally starting to show how haggard he was by this entire ordeal.

"I think I should have done this differently from the beginning...that I should have spoken with you like this from the start, but yes, I finalized this match. Before you ask, I didn't look at every person, it would have been too numerous a task for me to approve each one. I did, however, use my executive approval to review and override some of the initial decisions."

Shacklebolt linked his fingers over top their paperwork, roving one of his thumbs over the other in way of a nervous habit.

"The matches were made only taking into account very basic things. Things like personalities, preferences, history--" He eyed them pointedly. "--none of that was a factor. At all. _Please_ trust me...this was the best I could arrange. This was the best alternative from the original matches that I could provide...for both of you."

Draco met his superior's gaze steadily, searching for any inkling of dishonesty or malice...or really anything aside from the genuine vibes he nearly always got from the man – he was, after all, the only one in that stupid building that seemed to think he would've made a good Auror.

Draco frowned.

Shacklebolt, for as level headed and generous as he could be, had a definite wrathful streak in him. This was also backed by power, not only in name and stature, but raw magical ability as well. Those things considered, it was uncommon for him to appear so...so...so _submissive_ in anything. Draco wasn't sure if it was just the man's soft spot for the witch to his left that brought it out or something else. Whatever it was, he didn't like it any more than he cared for the woman at his side’s unfiltered display of distress. What’s more, he didn't like the fact that he couldn't smell even a hint of foul play on The Minister's end when he spoke about this. He was telling the truth.

That made him grimace all the more.

So in their small pool of options, him being paired with Hermione Granger – Queen Bee of Know-It-All Utterly Perfect Prudish Witches Land – was neither his nor her worst match? This alternative was somehow still better than whoever they'd been partnered with originally?

Their world really _was_ going to shit.

Draco urged those Slytherin gears to start spinning into action to figure some kind of way out of this lest they both go insane. Wizarding marriage vows were as serious and binding as an Unbreakable Vow. Although, unlike an Unbreakable Vow, no one would fall over dead if they cheated on their spouse; if that’d been the case, their population would be in much more of a situation than it currently was. As it stood now, it wasn't uncommon for arranged Pureblood marriages to have a lover on the side floating about to keep someone satisfied while the main parties reaped the benefits of new political footholds from the bond. The social stigma shunning adultery was still a very prominent thing but it just made the families all the more tight lipped about these arrangements.

It made him wonder. From what he’d gleaned of the paperwork, there were no easy outs, nothing so simple as an exit clause to exploit or anything of that nature, but he might be able to find a way in the other wording. The mandate just stated they had to _marry_ their assigned spouse and, while it was also mandatory to produce offspring for repopulation, there was no stipulation that the child actually had to be created with said spouse. Sure, it was assumed, what with the most 'physically optimal pairs' being drafted together, but he didn't recall seeing or hearing anything explicit.

If that wasn’t a loophole he could utilize, he didn’t know what one was.

While they would still have to consummate the marriage and shag each other at least the once - Draco shuddered at the passing thought - he was sure they could come to some kind of agreement that would leave them with an acceptable solution. Granger could have whatever sorry bloke she was trying to save herself for on the side and he...well, he would have to work on how to dissociate her from everything Malfoy in name, but it was a start.

The only unfortunate thing about it all would be his inability to actually have the pleasure of shoving his own very own Half-Blood sprog in dear old father’s face to hopefully send him off to an early grave. Draco supposed he and Granger would still have to raise whatever child she had for appearances sake and, in essence, that could still be bad enough; certainly not the same, though. Still...he could work with that.

Another aspect is that it’d lock him into a loveless marriage of personal celibacy beyond the wedding night, what with his strict 'no cheating' policy. Much as he wouldn’t admit it aloud, however, Red had been right. There weren’t many witches lining up to marry him these days. Astoria was a fluke and the handful of others just wanted what they could wring from what was left in the vaults after his family’s history of political missteps. For his part, though, thoughts of marital freedom had been beaten out of him long before this law ever became an issue.

 _‘Yes.’_ Draco focused on the steadily growing plan forming in his noggin--he could definitely work with that.

"A contract."

Shacklebolt lifted his head and granted Draco an odd look. "Excuse me?"

"A contract." He repeated himself plainly, picking at the decorative buttons on the arm of his chair. "In addition to whatever other nonsense you expect us to sign off on, I want a contract that _you_ authorize and sign for us. Granger and I will draw it up, terms to abide by and do's and don'ts for this little spectacle and whatnot. If you won't agree to that, I won't be contributing to this silly little baby factory law."

Hermione's eyes widened, remembering what the woman had said about non-compliance.

"Malfoy, there's a fine-"

"Yeah, yeah. An increasing fine up to a maximum of 50% of our incomes. Each. I know, I was in the room when she said it. I've got more than enough money to sacrifice my current paycheck and still live comfortably without ever having to worry about the costs." It wasn’t true but Draco shot her a sidelong glance anyway, silently urging her to go with it.

There was no way Shacklebolt would sanction his plan to allow for another party in the mix and Draco had no desire to be penalized for ‘not following the rules’ only to have even more of his dwindling inheritance whittled away. He needed something that would be legally binding if it ever came into question, something he could slip under Kingsley’s nose to approve so they wouldn't have to deal with negative repercussions for not popping out their own mixed blood baby.

Despite how obvious he was sure he was being, Draco’s silent nudging apparently flew completely above Hermione’s head because she up and flipped her lid.

"That's absurd! How very 'Malfoy' of you to only think of yourself! What about me?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"What about you?" He offered a cool smirk to cover his exasperation – he could still work with this, appeal to The Minister's weakness for her maybe.

"Draco, I can't live off of _half_ my bloody income!" She lowered her voice to a hissed whisper even though Kingsley would still have been able to hear, "You know they haven't given me that raise and they're never going to no matter how many curses I abolish in that damned room."

His expression faltered for a second, the sound of his given name coming from her was rare and it always startled him. "That's really not my problem."

Hermione huffed. "Well, it's great to know that you'll take such good care of your wife. No wonder your parents had to arrange for you to be married off in the first place!"

Draco's cocky stare hardened. "At least I had plans for it. Having a little trouble finding someone to bite the bullet after the Weasel tossed you aside, love? Or did you leave him? I never was quite clear on how that all worked out, you'll have to enlighten me with the full story before our wedding night so I know how best to romance you."

"It was mutual, you prat!" Hermione growled.

Draco was almost relieved that she'd shrugged off that tearful disposition and was back lashing at him like the Granger he knew and thoroughly loathed.

"Enough!" Kingsley's palms slammed onto the desk as he stood, the witch and wizard before him snapping to attention in an instant. "I'm disappointed in you two! I honestly _did_ expect so much more. You're both adults now, it would do you well to act like it."

"But Minister--"

The Minister ignored Hermione's interjection and plucked a couple of thin folders from the stack in front of where he'd been sitting to toss one each in front of them.

"Draft the contract, get legal to review it, and I will sign it. The terms must be agreed upon by both parties, and I will review it again personally before I allow it to come to pass. But, before you go requesting anything you'll regret, you may want to look at this."

When they just looked skeptically between the folders and his face, Kingsley rolled his eyes and flipped each one open so they were met with their future spouse's profiles. Each file featured a small head shot with their basic demographics listed to one side. Below the section with their identifying information was a long list of traits that were used in the compatibility assignments.

“Here,” Kingsley said and went on to explain.

And explain he did.

He explained that every trait had a thick, solidly inked line with a number ranging from 1 to 10 out to the right – 1 being poor and 10 being excellent. These were their ratings compared to the majority of their community's traits. Anything marked between 8 and 10 were well above average, 5 and 6 were the median, and 1 through 4 were below standard. Below the solid line was a faint one that wavered and altered color from red to green. This fluctuated in accordance to whose profile it was matched against. Red indicated poor compatibility in any given area and green indicated good; the more saturated the color, the more intense the rating.

Kingsley picked the top sheets from each folder and set them beside one another and tapped it with his wand. The colored lines below each trait began to shift and ripple, readjusting themselves on each page until they finally settled and The Minister motioned for them to have another look.

The pair blinked at each other but leaned forward to scan over the documents more thoroughly. Hermione was unable to stifle her gasp at the results and while the wizard to her side didn't vocalize his surprise, his mouth did set into a grim line at what he saw.

There were so many things on the list that were examined ranging from mental capacity to physical wellness and while there were a handful of items where the compatibilities showing were in the red, the vast majority of them were varying shades of vibrant, vivid greens.

Draco snatched up Hermione's profile page a bit angrily, glaring very hard at the little glowing green lines.

"What spell did you use there, Minister? Wishful thinking?" His eyes darted across the page, examining a few choice traits with intensely glowing green lines, snorting at the implications.

_'So they were compatible because they were both smart and symmetrical? What a load of rubbish!'_

Hermione was scanning over the traits as well and was taken aback by how unsurprised she actually was to see so many of his mental capacity based scores marked as 9's or 10's: task assessment, reasoning, problem solving, organization - according to this he was bloody brilliant if not a bit impulsive. Several of his physical trait evaluations were in the higher ranges as well, but those were all fairly obvious. Hell, she may not like the man, but she wasn't blind or _dead_ for that matter – he was as much of a physical specimen now as he was back in school, maybe even more so now that he'd come into his features.

Brows furrowed, she blinked back up at Kingsley.

"Minister, what kind of factors were used in determining these compatibilities? What was that incantation? _Genetikos revelio?_ "

Kingsley nodded, thinking that she would've picked up on that. He leaned against the edge of the desk, half facing them with his hands clasped loosely over his thighs.

"Genetics, Miss Granger, as you've already probably inferred. _Science._ We've been partnered with several individuals in Muggle Britain for quite some time trying to learn and adapt to new things. While historically science, Muggle technology, and magic have not functioned harmoniously with one another, we have been making a great deal of progress in our efforts. This is just one of the ways it will improve all of our lives."

Hermione looked offended.

"I knew you had this Muggle Science Division but I never realized how active it was going to be. I wish you would have said something more about it to me sooner. I would have liked to have some input in assessments like these. Maybe I could’ve been an asset to such a department prior to large things like this being rolled out to ruin--" She stopped herself, glaring at Draco as she reworded her statement. "--rolled out to _impact_ our population in such a way."

"I apologize, Miss Granger. You seemed comfortable in your position here as a Curse-Breaker working with the Aurors. I didn't want to disrupt--"

Draco snorted at that.

“With all due respect, Minister, Granger hates that bleedin' place."

" _Malfoy!_ " she hissed, lifting his folder from the desk and smacking him on the arm with it.

The wizard grunted and when she reared back to smack him again he snatched the folder away from her and put the paper he'd been holding into it, tossing it back onto the desk in front of them.

"Please. I'm not revealing anything that's not obvious. Anyone that takes a moment to look at you in that stuffy little room, hidden behind those stacks of papers, going over line after line of notes and observations with bloodshot eyes that are due to roll out of your head at any minute from boredom, could see it."

" _Stop. Talking,"_ Hermione grit out under her breath.

Kingsley scowled at the other man for speaking so casually and looked to Hermione's face. It was trained on Draco speaking only of imminent doom, but it didn't seem to be out of opposition to the comment, merely embarrassment.

"Hermione," Kingsley said, "is that true?"

She straightened and replied automatically, "No, Minister. _I'm fine where I'm at._ " Hermione said the last with a narrowed glare at Draco, who just grunted but didn't add anything further.

The Minister watched the exchange between the two curiously. It was obvious there was a conversation that had happened between them at some point in time in regards to the matter, but evidently it was a sensitive area of discussion. As much as he actually was interested in the idea of Hermione transferring into that division - one of the best and brightest witches onboard at the time _and_ a Muggle-born - there was a way things had to be done. He’d already flexed executive powers to get them here and warn who he could about this dismal direction that, despite everything, he still believed was the best of their options at the time. To flex any further would be to overextend and, even in times of peace, there were always others waiting for The Minister to trip and fall.

Kingsley shook his head, realizing he didn't have time to get into it. It was certainly something worth looking into, just not right then.

Looking at the pair again as they were sharing secret looks, communicating without speaking, he had a feeling if they realized how in-tune with one another they were from all their years of bickering and working alongside the other, they would be absolutely livid.

He cleared his throat and repeated his instructions from earlier, "Draft the contract and bring it to legal. And _don't_ give Mrs. Leighsworth any more trouble as she goes through the rest of the information with you. If I get another notice from her indicating that either of you have been causing trouble while she is trying to work, that will be the first and _last_ warning. Understood?"

Draco and Hermione shared a final dark look between them but straightened and replied in unison as though they were in school all over again, "Yes Minister."

"Excellent. I will call her back in, then. You two are free to take the rest of the day from work if you need it once your appointment is through. I will let your immediate supervisors know."

With that, The Minister showed himself out of the old meeting room. Hermione's eyes tracked his movements beyond the distorted glass as he had a brief conversation with their caseworker before letting her back in. While they still had a private moment to themselves, Hermione snatched back up both their folders with a thick stack of papers and used them as a bludgeon to smack Draco in the arm repeatedly several times before he ripped them away from her again.

"What the bloody hell, woman?!"

" _Why_ are you always such an idiot?!"

Draco sneered.

"What are you on about now?" he snapped.

"Why did you tell him that? About my job? You said you'd never say anything! You had no right--"

"Oh, come off it. You brought it up...and it's not like you were going to correct his false assumptions, so someone needed to."

"Well, that's not your decision, nor is it your business! And anyway, I'm just fine where I'm at. I don't need to worry about trying to skip from one place to the other right now. Not with all this marriage business...and I've got far too many projects going on. I _just_ started this case on this supposedly cursed bracelet and it's far too intricate to just pawn off on someone and— _why_ are you looking at me like that?"

One of Draco's pale eyebrows was raised in a knowing look, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Is that the mantra you repeat to yourself every day in that stuffy little broom closet to push out the thoughts of wanting to ram your wand through your eye just to make something interesting happen?"

Hermione scoffed.

"There's plenty of excitement breaking curses. Why just the other day--"

"Granger," he interrupted again seriously with obvious irritation in his tone. "This compatibility shit is a load of Thestral dung, but we do have some things in common. You and I were the front runners in a war that we had no choice but to fight in. Our reasons were different, but all the dangers were just the same and just as real. You and I fought for our lives on a near day to day basis after a point and, once it was all said and done, we got rolled into this love-love Hufflepuff _crap_. We've paid our dues. We finished our educations. We became responsible adults. We even went and got ourselves some boring responsible adult-type jobs! Despite it all, you don't just transition into this farce that we're living now in a piddly handful of years without residuals. You can lie to The Minister, you can lie to your friends, you can even lie to me if it pleases you, but do us all a big fucking favor and stop lying to yourself. It's just pathetic."

Hermione’s knee jerk reaction was to argue. _Merlin_ , did she want to argue. Badly. But, the only thing that made her hesitate was the fact that his analysis was spot on.

Harry and Ron, and even to a lesser extent, Ginny got to live much the same way they had before and during the war. The boys were out, immersed in action and danger on a fairly regular basis. Ginny was enjoying her athletic career as part of the well known and beloved Holyhead Harpies and she supposed that was fairly exciting. If nothing else, it was an excellent dump for overactive adrenaline surges they’d all become used to back when every crack of a twig in the forest could’ve been the last sound they’d ever hear.

Despite her talents, ‘in the field’ danger was never Hermione’s proverbial cup of tea and she thought moving away from more regular reminders of her time on the run was a brilliant idea. It made the prospect of becoming a Curse-Breaker perfect. She could research and keep her mind busy while still helping the boys in their efforts as she did before but be away from the worst of it. She hadn’t taken into account just how much paperwork that job involved, however. Nor did she realize how little impact it would truly have on their more serious tasks and assignments.

At the end of the day, it really had become something of a karmic joke that she was too deeply immersed in now to back out of.

Hermione frowned at the look Draco was giving her and briefly wondered if the things he spoke of moments ago were part of the reason he'd also wanted to become an Auror.

"How are you so sure the reason that I'm unhappy is that I'm lacking the _excitement?_ " she asked.

Draco offered her a faint smirk that was a little too honest for either of their liking.

"Because I've seen the way you carry yourself in there on days that you haven't noticed me yet and it's the same weight I see in my shoulders and that same glazed stare I see in the mirror every morning."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the reappearance of an openly apprehensive Mrs. Leighsworth.

"Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy,” she greeted them for the second time that day. “The Minister advised me that you are both ready to continue going over the details. Is that correct?"

Hermione blinked at the woman then back to Draco who was now picking at the fabric of his chair. His face was blank and stature bored, as though they didn't have the closest thing to a heart to heart that they seemed capable of just seconds ago.

She groaned and slumped back into her seat as well, grumbling, "Yes. Please, let's just get this over with..."

 


	4. Chapter 4

The couple sat staring at each other across the table in The Ministry's cafeteria encased in the effects of a privacy spell. They chose to meet in a more public and neutral setting to keep from killing the other; so far it worked, but just barely.

It’d already been four days since the announcement and while things had calmed down around the building and the city in general, there was still a great deal of tension everywhere.

From what Hermione could figure, people were finding little time to panic about the new law and were panicking instead about their weddings. All the meetings had been finished on the late, _late_ evening of the third day and everyone was expected to be married within two weeks of their appointment date and the signing of the “Acknowledgment of Expectations.” How they expected everyone to be taken care of within such a short expanse of time, Hermione wasn't sure, but as was evident with their long days of meeting with individuals, they were doing what they could to cram in as much as possible. The fact that there were already new couples floating around The Ministry as it was made her ill with the understanding that, apparently, marriage didn't hold the same significance to some as it did to her.

Her betrothed sat across from her, perusing the parchment he’d been given with disinterest whilst trying not to rub at his face. There was a bit of a shimmer that centered around his left eye and mouth – a glamour charm. He’d used it to hide the greenish purple bruising and split lip that came from a surprise meeting with one Mr. Ronald Weasley's fist.

Word spreads quickly around The Ministry what with so many workers being little more than a bunch of gossips with nothing better to do. Her and Draco’s fate in particular was quite the talk of the office and once he’d caught wind of it, a beet red and fuming Ron cornered them both in her office.

 _“Issit true?”_ Ron had practically snarled.

And with their confirmation barely out their mouths, he reared back and punched the other wizard right in the face before Draco could even get a proper sneer on.

Ron’s jealousy had always been unmatched. Even though they were separated, he still took it upon himself to act as Hermione's protector – one of many reasons they'd finally broken it off.

 _“Ronald! What the bloody hell are you doing?!”_ Hermione screeched but before he could answer for himself, Draco stepped up with a taunting laugh.

 _“Yes, Weasel,”_ Draco said through the dribbling of his own blood, recovering quickly from the blow. _“What the hell are you doing? Your Nan teach you that bit? S’no wonder Hermione left you! Better, then, I’ll be keeping our Gryffindor Princess warm at night from here. Who knows what’d happen if left to you and that noodle arm!”_

The violence that erupted in her tiny office after that surprised Hermione so much, all she could do was stand and stare in astonishment as these two grown men exchanged blows like petty children.

Ron was broad and moved in a lumbering fashion with wide, heavy swipes while Draco was sleek and lean and quick. Weaving and bobbing around the ginger's jabs, the two oafs kept at it until Hermione came back from her stunned shock and threw the both of them apart with a shouted spell.

 _“That is enough, you two!”_ she chastised. _“I don’t know what you bloody buffoons think you’re doing, but if you think to continue it won’t be in MY office! And you’d best pray to Merlin himself that nobody outside that door caught wind of this idiocy, because so help me, if I don’t have a job come Monday morning because of you two idiots, there will be Hell to pay!”_

Hermione fixed a stern glare at Ron, setting one hand on her hip and thrusting her wandhand in the direction of her door. _“Out!”_

_“Wh–but ‘Mione, he–”_

_“I said OUT!”_ Hermione snarled. _“For the rest of the day, if I see you set one TOE past that threshold I will hex you into the high heavens! Ronald, you go back to your desk and think about what you did!”_

His mouth flapping a few times, Ron’s shoulders finally slumped and he hunched in on himself. With the barest nod to acknowledge her words, he turned and left, slinking off like a wounded hound.

After the door had shut, Draco swiped a hand over his bleeding face, sneered, and tugged a kerchief from his blazer pocket.

_“Daft son of a–”_

_“EPISKEY!”_ Hermione hissed, cutting Draco’s grumbling short and pulling a shout of pain and surprise from his throat.

**_“OW! Bloody hell!”_ **

_“And YOU,”_ she said, starting in on him, _“you are just as bad for egging him on! I don’t know what you were thinking–IF you were thinking, but whatever the case, that Neanderthal logic stops here! We may have to move forward with this farce of a marriage, I may even have to shag your stupid, ignorant arse, but let’s have one thing clear: you raise a hand to any of my friends like that again – provoked or no – and I will pick you apart with every hex I know!”_

She whipped her wandhand around so fiercely at him, Draco flinched. When he cracked open his eyes, her wand was tucked up between his legs and pressing menacingly against his groin.

_“Starting here.”_

And so, there they were.

Hermione sat, staring down at the list of 'demands' that Draco had provided her. It was roughly the seventh revision he'd given after several arguments via owl since he explained his plan before they parted ways for the weekend.

In all honesty, Hermione didn't care much about the freedom it would give her to have a child with whomever she wanted – if there even would be such a consenting other party since everyone she knew around her age was being married off as well. The idea of her being married to one man but even potentially being intimate with another rubbed her the wrong way, but when she put names and faces to the situation, she found the idea less horrific as the minutes ticked by; as it was she tried to push thoughts of her impending wedding night to the furthest recesses of her mind lest she be in a constant state of nausea. Instead, she just favored that the contract would mean she would get to have little to no exposure to Draco with everything that was happening if she so desired. If his list was anything to go by, she was very glad for that option.

"At least one house elf _(paid)_ –” That was an early one of her additions. “–first child to be named after a constellation or heavenly body, wedding band must be the Malfoy family ring–what kind of nonsense is all of this?"

Draco was looking over her newest list himself and didn't even bother raising his head with his reply.

"It's not nonsense, it's tradition. Save for the first one, just bleedin’ common sense to have an elf to help around the house. If we have to go through the marriage bit, even if we don't have a child together, we have to keep up appearances." He snorted and tossed her list back at her. "Besides, my list isn't any worse than these ludicrous demands."

She gave an affronted scoff.

"Ludicrous? Which part is ludicrous? My _terms_ are perfectly reasonable, just as the rest of my requests made to you are on a regular basis!"

"You're hardly what I would define as reasonable. I mean look at this!” He tapped at the parchment where it lay on the table. “You want me to live in a Muggle neighborhood? You want to grant access to our new home to the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio plus one She-Potter? How is _any_ of this reasonable?"

Hermione blinked at him. _Was he serious?_

"What?" he snapped, his face set in a stern and unhappy expression.

"I want you to say that again out loud and listen to how stupid you sound," she replied flatly. "Let's try a bit of logic and work through each of those that you have issues with, shall we? First, yes, I want to live in a Muggle neighborhood. Why is that unreasonable?"

Draco gave her a serious look of disbelief. "Really? Granger... _me_ in a Muggle neighborhood. Also, we're not Muggles. Why the hell would we live with them?"

" _Because_ when our marriage reaches the front page of The Prophet – and it _will_ – do you really want to be so close to this community then? Regardless of whatever agreements we make on and off the books, Malfoy, we won't be received well by anyone. There may be a whole mess of other things going on, but these witches and wizards gravitate towards the juiciest gossip there is, _especially_ in times of stress." She tried to keep the offended tone out of her voice while within the confines of their magically silenced space. They still had half a day to go and she couldn't make it if she was bursting vessels at his arrogance already.

He rolled his eyes.

"Right. I forget that you’re not as used to all the bad publicity. But you’ve dealt with the press–you’ve a longstanding grudge with that one Skeeter bint if I do recall.”

Hermione’s lips pursed.

“What’s your point?” she asked.

“Just that you should know they’ll be hounding us no matter what. And for my peace on the matter, it makes no difference to me what venom your little goody-good fan club or supporters want to send my way. I can afford a home for us wherever the fuck we please. Why should we go through the hassle of living with them and trying to hide?"

Draco folded his arms, meeting her perturbed look with one of his own. His funds may not have been as plentiful as they once were and decreasing more as the days went on but, to be fair, the Malfoy fortune had always been deep and widespread. Buying a house would be a drop in the bucket in the scope of all the other things eating away at it. He could afford for he and his wife to be comfortable, at least.

Hermione noticed this time that, again, when he referred to Muggles he kept saying 'them', dissociating her entirely. "What about me?" she asked.

Draco quirked an eyebrow, his scowl lessening. "What about you?"

"Honestly? Have you forgotten _I’m_ Muggle-born?"

"Of course not,” he huffed. “How could I? That's part of the reason we're creating this contract in the first place–"

"Yes, yes, yes." She waved him off, finding less and less time to be bothered by what lingered of his bigotry these days. "So I don't 'sully your good blood' and whatall.”

Draco grimaced. No, that was _not_ why they were creating the contract, but he didn’t bother to correct her.

“In that same vein,” she continued, “don't you think that there might be a negative reaction about me marrying into your family on your side as well?"

“ _Tch,_ we’re not children anymore, Granger. There are no more sides! Besides, it’s not as though I’m not used to the whispers and mutterings.”

“Not _you_ , you prat!” Hermione hissed. “Not everything is bloody about _you!_ I meant–I meant towards me.” She paused, chewing at the corner of her lip, then said, “From some of the... _purists_.”

Draco blinked, a light flicking on in his head.

He was so used to everyone attacking him for everything he'd ever done wrong in his entire life that he never considered the other side of it. Where was sure he was going to be attacked for ruining everyone's most beloved war heroine with his 'dark influence', he'd not really thought about her being affected in that way at all. No one aside from his mother had been in his corner for the longest time, he didn’t actually expect Hermione to cut flack for being made to do something she so obviously was against.

Perhaps it’d been a bit...short sighted of him.

Blinking again, Draco looked at her – _really looked at her now –_ and realized how apprehensive she was.

It would’ve been hardly noticeable to anyone that spent little time in her company. To them, she was probably the same old frigid bitch that she usually was, but not to him. _He_ could tell.

Draco saw it in the corners of her eyes where they tightened with her anxiety. It was in the barest twitch at the edge of her mouth and the way she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and worried at it. Beyond that, there was the faintest little flutter of her blouse, suggesting she was bouncing one of her feet below the table as she sometimes did.

" _Scared_ , Granger?" It was an easy dig and only half of one at that. _Was_ she scared? It wasn’t like her to be.

Hermione scoffed immediately.

"Of course not! I just want as little hassle as possible in my day to day, is all."

Draco frowned.

She _was_.

She was scared.

Did she think that a slew of crazy blood purists were going to pop out of the woodwork and come to take her away if they were to live within the magical community?

Well...he supposed that wasn't entirely impossible considering it _did_ happen only a few years ago and she _was_ at some point abducted, tortured, and bleeding out on his parents' drawing room floor by just such a fanatic because of her associations and dirty blood and–

"Fine,” his answer left him before he could stop it, surprising himself – and her by the look on her face. Draco cleared his throat and amended his statement, “But it has to be a big house."

A beat of silence passed between them, Hermione looking stunned and Draco finding something of interest off in a direction where she _wasn’t_.

"S-sorry?" Hermione stuttered at his acceptance. "Did you just agree to one of my terms? Just like that. After roughly half a week of back and forth, we finally have _something_ agreed upon?"

Draco turned his nose up at her with a scoff.

"Don't get excited,” he said. “There are several more items left to go through and I’m sure, knowing you, you’ve droves of words prepared to defend your less reasonable ones." He waved at her and her list again. "Come on then, let's get on with this. We've wasted four days already, we need to get this damned thing finished and to the Minister and still have a wedding on top of that. Chop chop."

Hermione frowned.

"About that–"

"What _now?_ "

"Since _you_ brought it up,” she began with a hiss but quickly lost steam. “A-are we having an actual wedding or are we just getting married before the court?"

Draco eyed her, ran his tongue over his bottom lip in thought, leaning back in his seat as he considered it. After a significant pause, he shrugged.

"Does it matter? I would have thought you, being Miss Practicality as well as the President of the I-Hate-Draco-Malfoy Fan Club, would want a court wedding."

Hermione stared hard at the list in her hand, eyes downcast but her focus elsewhere.

She would have loved to have a real wedding. She'd always wanted a quaint Summer or Autumn wedding, something outdoors with some vibrant flowers and a lovely bouquet. Not a lot of people, just ones close to her heart, her friends, her family, mostly her parents—her mouth went dry.

_Her parents..._

Hermione coughed, covering the sharp gasp that escaped her and nodded hurriedly.

"A court wedding is fine."

Draco tilted his head and was opening his mouth to say something snide, until he saw the fine tremble in her shoulders and the sheen gathering in her eyes.

He never did well with tears.

Though Draco had often brought her very close in their squabbles of years past, he’d seen her tears rearing their head on the heels of immense frustration, not this; not whatever _this_ was.

Before he had chance to comment, Hermione had already composed herself as though the slip in her demeanor never even happened.

Plowing onward, she said, “I won’t wear the ring, though. Even if this _is_ a mandatory function, I deserve something for me. Not some dusty old relic passed from Pureblood to Pureblood over the course of history. If it’s from your family, I’d almost expect it to cut my finger off or curse me if I slipped it on, anyway!”

Whatever hint of compassion he might’ve had for her was squashed right out.

It wasn’t asking much of her–he certainly didn’t think so otherwise he wouldn’t have put it on the list!

Draco spoke through clenched jaws, "It's an antique _and_ it's tradition. Do you have no bloody respect for tradition?"

"It's your tradition, not mine. Where I come from, how I was raised, marriage is something special and unique and not just some arrangement for land, money, or power!" Hermione sat forward in her seat. " _And_ if you haven't noticed, our engagement isn't particularly 'traditional'!"

Draco felt himself growing warm, a flush turning his neck pink at dealing with this woman.

That is, until an idea slithered its way into his head.

They stared at each other across the lunch table, unblinking and unwavering, until his glare finally lessened in intensity and he flashed her a sly smile. Her gaze narrowed in response.

"Fine," he drawled, conceding to another demand. "You want something unique. I'll get you something... _unique._ "

" _Not_ cursed." Hermione didn't know why she felt the need to say it aloud, but with the way he was looking at her, she thought it best to cover all her bases. "I won't have you giving me some set of cursed jewels!"

"You're so thick." Draco snorted. "As if I would attempt something so dim–"

"Tell that to Katie Bell,” Hermione said with a scoff before she realized it. “Such a thing does seem to be in your repertoire."

As soon as the words finished leaving her mouth, _well_ before the corresponding scowl darkened his features, she regretted it.

The gray of Draco’s eyes deepened.

They were the gathering of clouds before a heinous storm, the kind that knocked over houses and toppled trees. His voice was gravelly and low, any humor that had tinged their earlier jabs was completely and utterly dismissed.

"Watch your fucking mouth, Granger, or I may reconsider." Draco worked to collect his things, scooping papers into a folder and doing his absolute best to control his temper. "You'll get your unique fucking rings. I'm done with you for now. I've got some real work to do that's more important than this shite.” He spared her a final glance, not bothering to waste his usual parting sneer on her. “Try not to choke on the rest of your lunch and make all this effort moot, _love_."

Hermione watched him turn on his heel with his belongings, leaving her with his list of terms and his half eaten tray of food to dispose of.

She groaned and massaged at her temples.

Here, she spouted tolerance every day, in everything she bothered doing.

She chirped about equality and equal opportunity and fair chances and _second_ chances and yet there she went, just shoving shite like that back in his face.

Sure, he’d egged her on plenty of times about plenty of things from their past together, but even in that, there was a fine unspoken line about what material was simply off limits.

She didn't bring up the things he did under the service of Voldemort and he hadn't called her a Mudblood since before the war.

The stress of this all was dropping her lower than she'd been in a good long while.

She groaned again and rubbed at her face, chastising herself.

_'Good job, Hermione, bleedin’ idiot. Not only were you a twat, this will most assuredly make everything that much harder.”_

_Wait._

Her head shot back up and she blinked in the direction he'd stomped off in, ' _Did he say_ **_rings_ ** _?_ '

 

* * *

 

Draco was reclining in his overly posh executive desk chair, one neatly pressed trouser leg crossed over the other while he examined some proposals when a sharp knock interrupted his thoughts. When he looked up and saw the garbled outline of a huge bushy head of hair he rolled his eyes and tossed them aside.

"Come in, Granger," he called.

Hermione cautiously cracked open the door, peering around the edge.

"How did you know it was me?"

"There are only two other witches that I know of that have such a dramatic silhouette for their hair alone. One's dead – _thank Merlin_ – and the other is probably too occupied reading tea leaves to have any cause to visit me. Call it an educated guess." He sat upright, hands folded over his desk calendar and addressed her coldly, "What can I do for you?" _Bitch._

Hermione sighed and let herself in the rest of the way.

She didn't make a habit of coming to see him often – mostly because he rubbed her the wrong way only _all_ of the time – but also because she may have been just a _touch_ envious of the fact that his office was easily three times the size of hers. Not to mention much more finely furnished with its own private fireplace hooked up to the Floo Network.

"I wanted to go over the rest of your list...if that's alright? You were right, we need to finish it out before too much longer and we run into the deadline then have everything else to worry about along with it."

On any other day, hearing her willfully admit he was right about something would have had him dutifully making sure she’d never forget it.

Today, he couldn’t be arsed to give a shit.

Draco shrugged.

"I suppose. It's not like these proposals are due with any urgency or anything."

"Sarcasm?" Hermione asked, sitting down across from him.

"No," he replied in the same snide tone. At her narrowed glare he rolled his eyes again. " _Yes_. These need to be done by the end of the day. Can it not wait until after work at least?"

"After work?" She looked terribly surprised as though he'd just grown a new head. "You want to meet with me...outside of here?"

 _Unsafe._ The word kept rolling through her mind. _Unsafe unsafe unsafe._

At that Draco turned her own glare back on her.

"Want to? No. Need to, perhaps." When her eyes grew rounder in their sockets he sighed in pure exasperation. "For Merlin's sake, Granger! We're going to be married! Seeing you outside of the office may just happen once or twice going forward, you know?" If she couldn't spot the sarcasm dripping from his words now, she was a lost cause.

He was right.

Shit, he was right.

For some reason, there was still a huge disconnect between what they had to do and what that really meant for their current relationship.

Hermione’s mind started racing and overheating, going through the mental images that zipped through it at having to actually see him **_everyday_ **.

Sharing a house.

Sharing a bathroom.

Sharing a bed.

"Granger?"

She squeaked – _squeaked_ – in surprise when he called to her.

_"No!"_

He quirked one sculpted blond brow.

"No," she said again, much more calmly. She smoothed her clammy hands over her robes to try and remove the excess moisture. "This won't take long. I've reviewed your list and already written in my counter proposals and compromises I'm willing to make."

"How magnanimous of you." He took the paper when she offered it. "I'm sure this won't take long at all what with how willing you are to go along with anything I've ever said."

"Just read the bloody list, will you?" Hermione snapped. "We can go over what still doesn't look good and do the same with mine."

Hermione sat wringing her hands together, willing herself not to back down from some of the things she'd noted she would accept. After their spat earlier, she tried to bury herself in her work at the office, but found her conscience shouting rather nasty things at her for the way they left off. It would be a bold-faced lie to say that some of the compromises she'd listed weren't made out of guilt, but in the greater scheme of things, she reasoned they would be _that_ awful.

At least she hoped not.

The short stint of silence in the room while Draco read over the notations was heavy and thick. When he finally slid his stare back to her saying nothing, she broke first under the awkward weight of it.

"What?" she asked, fidgeting.

"You're fucking with me." It wasn't a question.

_"What?"_

"I said, you're fucking with me," Draco repeated himself, his irritation evident. Sliding the paper to her, he planted a finger on one of the lines. "This. I don't believe this for a second."

Hermione leaned over to see which item he was doubting, not surprised in the least when she read over it herself. She steeled her courage, shook her head, and said, "I mean it."

"Bullshit. Look, if you're not serious, I really do have some fucking work to do, so if you'll-"

"On my _wand_ , Malfoy."

His body froze. Gray eyes slid up to search hers for lies as she knew he did with everyone that spoke to him. He was stealthy about it too. It was only in the way his cheeks hollowed and the tiny twitch in his jaw ticked at the possible offense. When the muscle in his neck shifted and his jaws unclenched, she knew he'd accepted her word as it was.

Draco gave her another once over and lifted his wand from its spot nearby to flick at his office door, casting a few wordless spells to lock and silence the area.

"Fine, let's get this done then." He retrieved Hermione's list from his satchel where it had been sitting forgotten since lunch and began combing through it, quill in hand to mark and note, much as she'd done.

Hermione wriggled in her seat, her discomfort growing by the minute with only the scratching of Draco's quill to fill the silence. Finally, she just couldn't take it anymore.

"Malfoy–"

She was startled when his eyes snapped up to hers again and the scratching noise halted abruptly. The echo of her voice rang in her ears. Hermione cleared her throat a couple of times, the words thick on her tongue under his scrutiny.

"Um..." she mumbled, "I'm sorry."

At his critical stare, her eyes darted back down to her lap where the fingers of one hand fiddled with the other.

There were another set of seconds that ticked by before Draco grunted and resumed his scribbling.

Just like that, the tension drained from the room.

Hermione allowed herself a small, quiet sigh.

That was about as good as it was going to get.

 

* * *

 

"I'll kill him. I'll murder his bloody face off!"

"Murder his—Ronald, _honestly!_ Will you just calm down?"

Hermione stopped trying to chase after her friend’s pacing form some time ago – not like he had much room for it in her office anyway.

Currently, she just sighed in irritation, perched on the edge of her desk near Harry who gave her a little shrug. He slung an arm around her shoulders briefly for a squeeze before folding his hands back in his lap to watch.

Her decision to inform the two of them about the contract seemed like a good idea at the time. She hadn't even explained its true purpose, just posing it as extra protection in the unpleasant reality that would be her life to come.

The boys seemed to be very receptive to the idea of her having an indemnity plan in place for the forced marriage to the obnoxious Slytherin so as to provide her securities not explicitly stated within the standard marriage vows.

 _“Just in case,”_ was how she’d explained it.

Yes. They’d been very receptive,that was, until they realized that it went both ways and there were tasks and things to be impressed upon _her_ as well – for Draco's benefit. Harry had his own freakout at the idea, but it was short-lived and paled in comparison to the other man's explosive tantrum.

Unlike Ron, _he_ would actually listen to reason and came down off the ledge.

Unlike Ron, Harry had a better grasp of the magnitude of the situation at hand and understood her position of compromise.

 _Unlike Ron_ , he had solid, unwavering faith in her judgment and abilities. And, though he hated the thought of everything happening, if she assured him she would be alright, he was willing to trust her until he felt it was appropriate to intervene.

"But it's Malfoy, 'Mione! _Malfoy!_ How can you agree to any of it?!"

Hermione hid the curl of her lip at the nickname and blew out yet another annoyed breath. When he behaved so childishly, he made it so easy to count her blessings at the bullet she’d dodged.

"Because which part about this law insinuated I had a choice? If you can point it out to me, I'd really appreciate having a glance."

Ron grunted at her snark and flung his arms up in the air.

"Not the law! This bleedin' contract that _he_ is making you sign. I don't trust him. He's nothing but a scheming, conniving, plotting, rodent!"

"I'm flattered by the nod to my cleverness, Weasel, even if it is in the most rudimentary and unimaginative taunts tucked in a poor attempt at an insult. Now, however, I'm afraid that _Hermione_ and I have a date with The Minister. So if you'll get your large, gangly barricade of a body out of the way to let my fiancee through, we'll just be on our way."

"Malfoy?" Hermione's eyes shot to the doorway in surprise. He was early.

She slid off the desk with the intention to–well, she wasn't really quite sure what she was intending to do about him, but he was neither wrong in his sudden statement, nor unexpected. It mattered little since Ron was there first, up in the wizard's face. As usual.

"I don't think so, _ferret_." Ron snarled, barely taller than the blond but using his broad frame to puff himself up menacingly.

Draco gave him a condescending and disinterested examination, eyes roving from the top of his red head down to his muddied boots and back to settle on his face. He very coolly allowed a polite smile to tilt his lips and straightened. It was the kind of thing that could only be expressed by someone who had the utterly fake gesture drilled into them from a very young age.

"Now, now, _Weasley_. As much as I would like to pick up where we left off last week, as I said before...we have a date. Hermione. And I."

A growl trickled from the Auror’s grit teeth and he clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked and went white from the pressure.

"What are you _really_ planning with this?" Ron indicated his meaning with a hard knock of the file Draco was holding, satisfied when he set some of the papers loose along with a tiny box he’d been carrying that went tumbling to the tiles.

 _“Ronald!”_ Hermione shouted.

Draco's pompous stare hardened at the shove but his free hand darted out to catch the falling box with reflexes sharper than they'd ever been on the pitch at school. The role reversal of him being bullied by this insignificant breath of a wizard made his hackles rise. Despite Hermione’s earlier warning, he felt himself rising to the bait, the temptation to retaliate consuming his priorities when he caught sight of the big brown eyes staring at them from over Ron’s shoulder, readying herself to intervene.

 _No._ An idea much better than slugging the Weasel entered his mind.

"Ronald! That was completely uncalled for!" Hermione said, pushing off from her place to join them and brandished her wand in an entirely threatening way. She glared at Ron first, then Draco. "And you, don't you forget what I told you."

"Don't worry love, I haven't forgotten a thing." Charmingly – _oh so charmingly_ – Draco offered her a smile and refocused all his attention on her after shoving the files in his arms at a nearby, and confused, Harry Potter instead.

Taking hold of her free hand, Draco tugged it just firmly enough that she came the rest of the way with it, looking flabbergasted at the fact he was touching her. For his part, he was doing his best not to falter at the foreign feel of her fingers curled over his own, even going so far for his performance as brushing his lips across the backs of her knuckles in the semblance of a kiss.

He did very well and didn't flinch _once_.

Hermione’s jaw dropped at his display.

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt the moment her skin met with his.

Those first few seconds were filled with a tactile analysis of his grip: _warm, calloused, firm._ Next came the realization of _who_ was touching her and, with impeccable timing, his mouth danced over her skin as she was trying to retrieve her hand – _soft, moist, smooth_.

That moment froze her insides.

She was stunned by the strangeness, shocked by gesture, and frankly, embarrassed by the attention. The nauseating flutter in her stomach didn't help any either. The last time anyone had kissed her hand like that it’d been Viktor at the Yule Ball.

_‘Did all old wizarding families teach this?’_

When Draco’s mirth filled silver gaze met hers again, she snatched her hand away, remembering exactly who he was _not_ in the blink of an eye. He was close now, encroaching on her space, and like usual she gave him no ground.

"What are you playing at Malfoy?" she hissed.

Draco tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear in mock affection, leaning in to whisper back and delighting in the way it would look to the two other men in the room, "Just upholding my portion of our agreement and having one last spin before I sign my life away and can't have fun with these plebs anymore."

Hermione jerked away from the hot breath tickling across her ear and the shiver it produced.

"What do you–" Her words died in her throat when Draco stepped back and popped open the black box in one smooth movement.

“Here you are, _darling._ I was saving it for after all the signing was through but, seeing as how Weasley just so happened to spoil the surprise–something unique. Just for you.”

He watched Hermione go still in shock, her eyes peering down at the box as if it were dangerous. Despite their fight about it the other day, Draco didn’t leap to offense this time around. Her caution was understandable to a point. The vast majority of jewelry she looked at with any kind of frequency _was_ dangerous; exceedingly so. He took her hesitance to be instinctive this time around and nothing more.

It took her longer than perhaps it should have to get herself together – far too many things were flying through her head at this stage – but when she finally did, Hermione blinked and had a good, long look at what lay before her.

Nestled in a luxuriant cushion of white satin within a black velvet box, was a dainty band of the purest silver-white shade she’d ever seen. Sitting atop it was an enchanting and oddly colored gemstone, something of a mix between green and red, that glittered in its modest setting. Examining the strange saturation of color from where she stood, Hermione cycled through the possibilities of what it was until she was certain she’d figured it out.

Her eyes went wide at the realization.

_‘Oh. My. God.’_

Ron, from somewhere to her side, snorted and barged his way where she and Draco stood to look down at the ring. He spared a look to his friend and fellow Auror, who didn't seem to understand what was so special about it either aside from maybe the large _-ish_ size of the rock before mouthing off again, thinking to take Draco down a peg.

"Looks like your diamond is tarnished there, Malfoy."

"I-it's not a diamond..." Hermione corrected him breathily.

All the resistance left her as she mentally flipped through her massive stores of knowledge at the sight of the stone with a hunger that begged her to examine it much more closely and see if all she'd read about such a stone were really true.

Ron's look turned from smug to confused at Hermione's astonished tone, not liking the way this was turning out, not at all. He looked to Harry again who caught his stare this time and shook his head even as worry was creeping into his own face.

"Diamonds hang onto curses far too well, Weasley, they're practically made for them. I mean, have you even noticed how many of the cursed jewelry pieces you've stomped in here to give to her have been peppered with them?” Draco chastised him. “For Hermione's line of work that would be an ill thought gift indeed."

Extracting the ring from its spot on the cushion, Draco coaxed Hermione's left hand back up, noting how clammy it’d become. He allowed himself a triumphant smirk when she didn't flinch away from his sliding the engagement ring onto her finger and the hungry fascination she eyed it with instead. Her reaction to the rock was exactly as he predicted it would be. It was just as well, too. It would make the reveal of the wedding bands he'd ordered all the more satisfying later. A wicked smirk quirked his lips at the thought.

Harry piped up, less concerned with the pissing contest between his mate and old school rival than he was curious with Hermione’s gobsmacked demeanor. "What is it, Hermione?"

" _Alexandrite_ ," it was a reverent whisper that held just a hint of her scholarly edge.

Hermione licked her lips, hovered her wand over the stone, and muttered, _“Lumos.”_

In a rapid transition, the mingling red and green swirls of color in the gemstone faded, shifting to a rich, glittering red shade instead. Her brow furrowed and, forgetting about the three men in the room, Hermione wrenched her hand away from Draco’s to scramble to her tiny window.

Snatching the dusty curtain aside, Hermione flung the panes open and stuck her hand out into the sunlight where the color shifted just as rapidly, this time back through the mixed shade then into a deep, sumptuous green. She gasped and snatched her hand out of the sun, moving back into the room and missing Draco's overly smug look entirely.

Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances.

" _Natural_ alexandrite," Draco hummed, surprisingly pleased with himself at her reaction. He knew she would understand its rarity and value immediately. "Three carats to be exact."

The boasted number didn't mean much of anything to Harry or Ron, but Hermione's eyes finally pulled away from the stone and latched onto his sly smirking visage.

" **_Three_ ** _carats?!"_

He nodded, leaning against Hermione's desk, eyes focused on Weasley's face, waiting.

"Of _natural_ alexandrite?" Hermione was back to focusing on the gem, watching how it sparkled and transitioned back to the previous mixed swirl of reddish green.

"Yes, love." Draco's purr was patient. He grinned at the red flush that was overtaking Ron’s ears as his thick skull was processing that this ring was actually kind of a big fucking deal.

"In–in a–this is platinum." Not a question.

In the face of her genuine bewilderment, Draco forgot his spiteful agenda for the briefest of moments and allowed himself a chuckle. It was like she’d never been presented with a gift before, the crackpot.

" _Yes_ ,” he said with a nod and smile like a cat that got the cream. “Three carats of natural alexandrite in a platinum setting and platinum band. I think the color suits you better than that awful gold jewelry I used to see you wearing. The stone is a bit smaller than I’d have liked, but I didn't figure you would want it much larger lest you start getting caught on things."

Draco’s declaration while buffing his nails against his expensive shirt was _just_ the right amount of haughty and the right amount of humble to infuriate her ex. The subtle jab at the baubles the Weasel used to get her were lost on the woman but hit the nail on the head for the red faced, red haired Auror glaring daggers from just a few feet away.

Hermione processed everything through her head again, tallying up the cost and clutched her newly adorned hand to her chest, jerked it away to look at it again, then moved it back to her chest looking stricken.

"The deep color of the stone...the–the...the luster...with the metal, this must be worth nearly–” The number of zeroes that lined her answer had her whirling back around with huge, watering eyes. “Malfoy! Oh my–Merlin, that's too much! I can't accept this! H-here, no you have to return this, I can't–"

_'What?'_

Draco's smug satisfaction blew out of him.

"Return it?" Draco echoed the phrase as though speaking a foreign language.

Uncrossing his arms and legs from where he was leaning against her desk, he made his way to her, stilling her hands forcibly before she could peel the ring back off. Not only was his pride on the line in front of the two Aurors, but more importantly a lurching tug in his chest propelled him forward in the face of her reaction.

"I can't _return_ it, Granger. It was custom cut and set. This ring is _yours_ . It was quite literally _made_ for you."

It was his turn to look at her like she was growing extra appendages at the way she blanched and swooned and teetered like something just flicked her hard in the forehead.

Harry and Ron made a jump towards her as if to brace her fall, already there, Draco steadied her by the shoulders and helped her settle into her threadbare office chair nearby.

Normally, Draco would have delighted in her dismay and rubbed it in her face, but he was utterly baffled by this. He'd never had a woman respond to trinkets like _this_ before. Granted, the thing was no piddly trinket and likely cost _far_ more than she speculated. The band cost plus the pricing to obtain such a rare and natural stone with those specific color transitions, its level of color depth, and the speed at which it was procured was nothing to balk at. It was also a fraction of the sort of jewels someone like Astoria would’ve demanded. Like the house costs, however, it was a minor drain in comparison to the others lapping at his fortune.

"'Mione!" Ron rushed to her side, shoving past the blond again to kneel before her. When he took up her hands, they were icy and chilled and her eyes were huge. "Are you alright? Malfoy, what the hell?! Did you give her a cursed stone? I swear to Godric, I'll break your snotty git face if you've done anything to her!"

Draco rolled his eyes, doing his best to muffle the spike of anger at Ron’s words.

"You Gryffindors need to get new fucking material. I didn't do anything but give my future _wife_ a fucking present."

Draco’s patience was wearing thin but some of his irritation was waived by the great pleasure in the way Ron fumed each time he insinuated any kind of social intimacy to the witch in question.

"Well after what happened with Ka–"

"Ronald enough!"

Hermione's sharp command halted the Auror's insult mid-sentence. Her voice was sudden and loud over the banter of the two but shaky, still recovering from her mild shock.

"I'm fine. Really. I'm fine,” she said more gently, peeling her hands from his and offering a watery smile that was wholly unbelievable. "We need to see The Minister. Just...come on, Malfoy, let's just get this done with."

Ron watched her move past him with the most sour expression he could muster, zeroing in on Draco whose gaze followed after her curiously.

Draco let her take the lead, waiting until she was halfway through the department – wobbling on her feet and clenching her hands very stiffly at her sides – before Ron growled and shoved the other man again.

"Listen ferret, I want to know what the fuck you think you're doing."

Draco moved with the push, only slightly startled with his attention still on the exiting witch. He stared after her a second longer before affording Ron with a critical once over, his expression tugging into an arrogant smirk. “Haven’t the slightest what you’re referring to, mate.”

Straightening smoothly, Draco made to pocket the ring box once again and found Ron there, very close and very much in his space. Ron’s fists clenched at his sides, his mouth already open and ready to say something else when Harry came into view, a hand clamped tightly over his friend’s shoulder.

Both Ron and Draco seemed to have forgotten about him there; and both of them were equally surprised to see him with the serious shadow cast over his usually more mild expression.

"Leave it,” Harry said.

Ron bristled. _"What?"_

"I said _leave it_ , mate. He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Hermione can take care of herself."

Ron sneered at his friend, roughly shrugging the hand off his shoulder.

" _Really?_ You too? Whatever," Ron scoffed and stormed out of Hermione's office, tromping loudly like an angry toddler.

Draco let his own sneer surface in his wake.

"I suppose you want some kind of a thank you?"

Harry didn't respond to that, just handed the files he'd still been hanging onto back to him.

"I may not know what it is you're trying to get out of all of this, Malfoy, but that's my best friend you're screwing with."

"I'm fully aware you're butt buddies with the Weasel, Potter, now if–"

" _Not_ Ron. Hermione." Cold, hard emeralds glinted at Draco from behind Harry’s round frames. "I don't know what you're doing and I don't need the details. She has no choice but to be paired with your slimy arse in all this. She's smarter than you. She's tougher than you. She's been through more than someone like you will ever understand. But things like that – like you just gave her – things like that mean a lot to her, so if you were planning a punchline to follow it up: don’t.”

He turned to leave Draco with those thoughts but paused in Hermione’s doorway, turning back to look him in the eyes again.

“If you hurt her, I'll be freeing up her options in accordance with the ‘til death do you part’ portion of your vows.” His eyes darkened considerably. "And no one would ever question it when I'm through with you."

And with that, Harry turned to follow after Ron to do some damage control.

Draco watched the man leave, a fine eyebrow raised as he wondered to himself who that man with the brass bollocks was and what the hell he'd done with Harry Potter. Coming back to himself, Draco glanced at the clock on Hermione’s shelf and cursed. All this dick measuring was going to make them late – he _hated_ being late.

“Bloody Gryffindors,” he grumbled.

Draco powered after his fiancee who was waiting and fidgeting by the lift doors. She never even turned to acknowledge him at her back, simply called the lift at the sound of his approach and once it arrived they entered the empty car with no shortage of awkwardness.

Inside, Hermione stood near the front, shoulders tilted inwards with both hands in front of her. By the shifting of her arm, Draco gathered she was trying to be discreet about continuing to examine the stone on her finger. He thought he heard a small muttered noise come from her direction.

"Pardon?" he asked.

Hermione jumped, not having thought he’d heard her mumble. Composing herself, she turned her head more fully to peek at him from the corner of her eye.

"Thank you. This wasn't part of the contract, so...thank you."

Draco hid his surprise well, even if he couldn't keep the sarcasm from leaking out of him still.

"A thank you? From Her Royal Highness, Queen Bookworm?" He hummed in amusement. "Careful Granger, I might get the impression that you don't hate me. _Then_ where would we be? I'm not entirely sure what I'd do with myself if such a travesty were to come to pass."

Draco’s sarcasm fell short and she merely faced forward again.

Hermione focused on the modest scenery of floors and hallways passing by on their way to the top level. Her busy hands hadn't pulled away from the glittering gem on her finger, continuing to turn it round and round, admiring the comfortable weight. Hermione loathed to admit it, but the ring in its entirety was gorgeous and the perfect balance of practical and extravagant for wear in her particular position. She pulled her eyes from the passing floors, looking back to the subtly rolling colors as they shifted from red to green and back again under the varying light sources.

"Why?" she asked, breaking the silence.

Draco tilted his head to one side in a birdlike fashion.

It wasn't so much the question itself, but the _way_ she'd said it.

That one word was cautious, curious, maybe even a little frightened–though he’d so seldom experienced that emotion from the woman in front of him that it was hard for him to confirm the last. The words of the Boy Wonder rolled around in his head. He hardly thought the bloke would actually hunt him down but there’d been things other than that to concern himself with in Potter’s words.

"Can a man not buy his woman pretty things?" he asked with a fraction of snark that usually passed between the two of them.

Hermione chuckled and it sounded more hollow than she’d liked.

"Maybe if it wasn't you and I," she said, turning to face him once more.

Hermione gave him a good, hard once over, only finding him immaculate in dress and stature, as was typical for him. Knowing very well she looked as exhausted as she felt, she sighed.

"I'm not an idiot. Let's not stand here pretending that _that_ particular crown fits on either of our heads. Of my terms, I only mentioned the wedding band, not this. I'll ask you again. Why?"

Draco eyed her stubborn form: arms crossed, hip jutting to one side, and tired brown eyes locked onto his. He rocked on his feet a few times then braced his weight against the hand bar behind him.

"It suits you," he said with a shrug and nod towards her hand. "I don't know how your Muggle folk do it, but here, a woman doesn't get married without a proper token of affection and promise, first. And, since I don't particularly fancy you, this was the closest and most traditional thing."

"Tradition,” Hermione echoed with some hint of understanding. She shook her head. "Must it always be 'tradition' with you?"

"If there's no tradition to follow, what else is there?"

"How about doing something new? Something _different_? We can’t all always follow tradition!" she snapped, her voice loud as the lift finally neared its destination. She turned to the door once more, rubbing away a chill from her arm. "Don't lie to me."

"Lie? I gave you a reason–"

"I mean it," she hissed over her shoulder. "If there's anything you've ever done for me that all these other people around me haven't, it's that you've been honest. As I said, I'm not an idiot. You evade. You omit. You tell half truths when it suits you, but you don't shove bold faced lies at me to make our interactions easy. You've always had something to say about exactly what you think of me, from what I say, to things I do, to how I look. It's not in our contract, but I would at least like to know I can count on you for _that_ much."

Draco grimaced. He ran through every past scenario he could think of off the top of his head to see if she was right. When he realized that he couldn't pull any good examples of him doing the contrary, his displeasure increased.

He _did_ make a point of telling her – _truthfully_ – exactly what he thought of anything and everything involving her if it came up, all for one simple reason: the truth hurt far more than lies. They always proved to be much more damaging.

Lies were things you told to people you cared about to spare their feelings, to make them feel better, or get an edge on them. Granger had never been a woman he'd really felt compelled to protect and they’d certainly never cared about one another to pad their interactions.

She was right.

He _hated_ it when she was right.

Draco opened his mouth to toss the biggest, fattest lie her way if for no other reason than to piss her off, but the words wouldn't form. When he realized why, he wanted to throttle her for ever pointing it out.

Lies were things you told to people you didn't _respect._

He didn’t like her, in fact, they barely tolerated one another when in the same room, but somewhere along the line he had developed a begrudging respect for her.

So lost in his head was he with that realization, he barely noticed when they reached their floor and Hermione stepped through the doorway without bothering to wait for him to follow. She was at least a dozen paces ahead of him before he plastered a sneer on his face and hurried to fall into step at her side. They hustled down the hall in that bustling, shuffling way people did when they didn’t quite want to run in public.

"Have I mentioned yet today how much I hate you, Granger?"

Hermione didn't bother looking at him, nodding to the secretary at The Minister’s reception counter who allowed them to pass by without hassle.

"Not yet,” she said glibly. “Still hours left in the day, though.”

She raised her left hand to knock on the door but before her knuckles rapped the wood, Draco darted out to catch her wrist. He tilted her hand with surprising care so they could both see the teardrop shaped gem as it glinted and caught the light, beginning its transition.

"It suits _us_."

Hermione’s brow furrowed but when she took that moment to watch the colors swirl and mingle in the stone, shifting and blending from one shade to another, she understood.

Red and green.

The two colors pushed and pulled at each other. Waxing and waning, fading and brightening. The shades fought for dominance in the single unassuming stone beneath all the different lighting along the path they walked. Occasionally one would overcome the other, but most times they would just butt against the other in a sort of limbo, restless in their pursuit to glow and outshine the other.

She was still staring when she realized that Draco had since knocked and they were being beckoned inside. He was looking to her coldly as he held the door open, waiting.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at him and let out a soft grunt as she passed by him.

"I suppose it does."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter was originally much, muuuuuuch longer than what's posted here, but in the interest of reposting this work in as easy of a fashion as I can muster, I decided to break it up a bit. Here's the first part of a chapter that was originally like 12k words long because for some reason that's a thing I do...

* * *

 

Kingsley set the paperwork down gently in front of him, sat upright in his chair, and folded his hands on his desk.

The silence between the three of them was not wholly uncomfortable but there was a fine line of tension in the air. He cleared his throat and leaned back again.

"Everything seems to be in order,” Kingsley said. “I just have a few questions about some of these terms."

"Of course, Minister, ask away." Draco smiled charmingly, knowing that the man would have questions and trying to be confident that he’d worded the important portions delicately enough that they wouldn't reveal their true intentions.

"’Housekeeping duties such as maintenance, cleaning, meal preparation, yard work and the like will be split fifty–fifty between the two of you and you will be choosing a residence within a _Muggle_ neighborhood with limited magic use’?"

The Minister stared hard at Hermione but was merely rewarded with her stock straight posture and unwavering nod. He raised a dark brow and looked to Draco.

"Mister Malfoy? You're agreeing to living with Muggles and doing housework?"

Draco kept his smirk in place despite the presumptuous question.  

 _‘Everyone thinks they know me so bloody well, don’t they?’_ he thought. ‘ _Arseholes.’_

He ran his tongue along the inside edges of his teeth to wring out some irritation before speaking.

"Yes Minister. We ultimately decided that a house elf would be in poor taste, what with the former founder of S.P.E.W. as one–half the household. And being in a low–key Muggle neighborhood will keep us out of the spotlight. Or at least it will make it more difficult for the press to find us when the announcement of our wedding inevitably makes it to _The Prophet_."

At that, Kingsley nodded, though his suspicion was still evident as he moved to the next topic.

"Miss Granger, it says here that you will continue working once married." He glanced at Draco again, clearly skeptical about his acquiescence to that term before shifting his stare back to Hermione. "But also that _Mister Malfoy_ will solely provide for your living expenses such as housing, utilities, and food. _You_ are alright with this, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's jaw ticked despite how she tried to hide it. She was not as skilled at hiding her distaste of the compromises as her partner. Even the most vague insinuation that she was to become a stereotypical homemaker made her bristle. As it was, she had to fight to get Draco to sign off on her working and the price to pay was that he would literally pay for practically everything else.

_‘Bloody fucking traditions.’_

She wasn't an invalid. She wasn't a damsel in distress. She could provide for her own damned self, but this man and his traditions were positively infuriating! It was the smallest victory in and of itself that she would get to see this stupid spoiled wizard mowing the fucking lawn and having to make his own bloody lunch and dinner at least half the time.

Hermione nodded finally.

"Yes Minister. I would rather the split be even," she said honestly, earning a sidelong glare from her fiance, "but we must make compromises in the unfortunate situation that has been thrust upon us—” Hermione paused to allow some of her malice to hang in the air between them and basked in Kingsley’s discomfited shift. It was a minuscule one, but it was enough to satiate her for now.  “—it was the most amicable thing we could agree on."

Hermione’s display of aggravation and honesty worked in lessening some of The Minister's doubt at the whole arrangement. He continued looking over the list, ignoring the stare of the witch whose sights had set and locked on the top of his head as though she might set him aflame. Kingsley mumbled through it line by line, half amused by some of the items they saw need to have a binding contract to agree on.

"’The first heir to the Malfoy name will be named after a constellation,’ ‘both parties will treat their spouse's friends and family _cordially_ if not in a friendly manner,’ ‘Hermione Granger will instruct Draco Malfoy in the use and operation of applicable Muggle devices used in compliance with the divided share of housework so as to allow him a fair chance to avoid failure at his tasks.’" He glanced at the pair, stifling a snort. "’Hermione Granger will _not_ hyphenate her last name once married,’ ‘an approved list of individuals will be allowed immediate access via Floo to your new home’—I don't see a list included. Was this document separate of the contract?"

Draco nodded and produced an additional piece of parchment with the legal department's raised seal stamped at the bottom. He read off the names for The Minister prior to handing the sheet over, "Harry Potter, Ginevra Potter, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, Lucius Malfoy, and Narcissa Malfoy."

Draco glanced to the woman at his side, seeing her tense at the last two names.

The agreement was for two friends each and their parents to have access, with any additional access to be granted later after filing the proper paperwork. Hermione argued that since she wouldn't be adding her parents to the list, she should be able to include Ron also, to which he adamantly denied. He already had one of her friend's death threats on his head, he didn't need to give access to the other much–more–likely–to–commit–the–deed one.

Of course he’d asked her why her parents wouldn't be on said list, only for her to give him a multitude of excuses, none of which made any damned sense. Draco had eventually dropped the issue, but not until that argument came to a head. When he’d been faced with the stricken look in those brown eyes shining with so many unshed tears, his heart lurched and he lost all desire to know.

Kingsley scanned the names, lingering on some but not questioning them, only frowning as, he too, seemed to notice the imbalance of the list.

"One final question, a clarification if you will." The Minister recited the next clearly, folding his hands over the contract that he'd read and re-read several times already. " _'_ Hermione Granger will be granted the option to abstain from birthing a child with wizard, Draco Malfoy, should she declare her desires to do so with the understanding the penalties of The Recovery, Reconstruction, and Repopulation Act will apply. In the event these penalties are enacted, Draco Malfoy will be solely responsible for providing the necessary fee amounts associated with not producing a child under The Law for both his and her monetary portions should this need arise.’"

Kingsley watched the couple stiffen at this point and gave them a stern look

"So, basically...you've created a contract, within my law, that if I sign, will acknowledge that you two don't have to produce offspring. Even though the point of said law is to... _produce offspring._ Is that correct?"

Draco exhaled so subtly in relief.

Just as he'd hoped, The Minister caught the implied offense rather than the purpose behind the vagueness of the wording. It merely said she could abstain to have a child with _him_ if she wanted—nothing about any other wizard unfortunate enough to have to deal with her.

He'd practiced his response, if Granger stuck to her part, they were moments from freedom.

Nodding, Draco said, "I'm not in the business of forcing myself on a woman, Minister. We may have to marry but if she doesn't want me to bed her, _I_ won't be the one forcing her to do so. As a Pureblood citizen, these kinds of marriages are nothing new to me, but this isn't the normal kind of arrangement and she couldn't be any more unwilling. I'm not sure what kind of picture you all paint of me these days this high up on the seats of power, but I'm not _that_ kind of a man. Never have been."

Kingsley's brows shot up at the line of defense against the terms written. He looked to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, you _are_ aware that to complete the first portion of the law and seal the ceremony that you will have to..."

Draco's stare shifted to his future wife. They both knew she was the weak link in getting this passed because she was far more animated about this piece than he. Hermione had rehearsed her part with him, but by the twitching in her eye, he was sure those words weren't the ones about to come out of her mouth.

"That I will have to _fuck_ my husband, Minister?”

_'Shit.’_

Hermione wasn’t done yet.

“Boff? Shag? Have _sex?_ No, not clinical enough for you? Oh, I've got one – _engage in coitus_. There, that's much more in line with the scheme of this whole charade, isn't it?" Her voice was a strained growl, her venom spilling past gritted teeth. She’d worked so hard to contain herself thus far, acting as though they were talking about the weather and not something as serious as sending the entire trajectory of her life off course. Unfortunately, she’d used up all her control trying not to argue every other point of this idiocy.

All things considered, she did remarkably well.

Draco gawked at her with blatantly amazed incredulity.

If they weren't completely up shit creek now, he wasn't sure _where_ they were!

He swallowed audibly, not sure what he was supposed to do to get her back on track now. Hell, she'd just derailed the whole bloody Hogwarts Express with that one. This is why he hated working with Gryffindors – at least Slytherins knew how to be fucking sneaky if they were going to divert from a plan.

"Miss Granger!" Kingsley chastised but was just as soon ignored.

Hermione stood and walked very calmly from her seat to his large desk.

“NO,” she said.

She plucked a decadent looking quill from his stand and hurled it at him in a way that belied her otherwise calm demeanor.

“No, I _wasn’t_ aware of that at first, Minister. But _you_ were when you magicked your signature on every single one of these papers. Congratulations, _sir_. You’ve decided exactly who my virtue goes to with as much regard as you give to what bloody robes you’ll wear for the day. So go on, then, _sign_. Proposition me! I’ve already sacrificed my family and very nearly my life for this community! Why not add my virginity to the pot, too? What’s one more thing, after all? Barbaric societies like ours have always set high virgin prices—shall we see if mine can save us all?”

Both men froze in their seats.

Not because of her cursing at The Minister.

Nor due to her cursing at her ‘friend’.

No, they both stared at Hermione, gobsmacked – Kingsley looking particularly pale – because a most significant piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place.

So ingrained was the idea of arranged matches into their magical history that it was an issue apparently neither of them had considered or thought about with all the other details of The Law.

Bit by bit, so many things arranged themselves into a picture that made sense to Draco; terrible, terrible sense.

So long had the witches and wizards of the magical community simply been expected to be passed around for strategic breeding and political gain, that it’d become old hat. For Draco, The Law was inconvenient. For Hermione...

All his thoughts lurched and halted as he looked at her trembling form. Her shoulders were shaking and he could tell she was doing her damnedest to maintain her composure in front of them both.

The reveal had obviously hit her harder than she’d thought it would.

She’d been saving herself for marriage? He hadn’t realized people still did that. Granted, Draco himself was a stickler for tradition, but many of his friends were not. Not only that, but she’d been with Ron for some time and they’d been rather serious – well, he’d _assumed_ they were – he’d never even considered the possibility that she…

' _No fucking wonder she was so angry about this when we were rehearsing our responses...fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK.'_

If he’d known, the script he’d drawn up to defend their terms would’ve gone an entirely different direction! How could he have been so fucking blind?

' ** _FUCK_** _.'_

Draco’s heart hammered in his ribcage and he felt compelled to say something. But what was there to say? ‘Sorry I’m being made to marry you and shag you against your will, but I’ve got to anyway, let’s have some tea’?

"Granger—"

"What's the matter? The both of you look as though you've seen a ghost!" She laughed icily, wrapping her arms around herself.

There were so many more words she wanted to say and they were all fighting for the chance to come out after sitting and festering in her gut since reading the second most damning letter she’d ever received from the magical world.

“It’s funny…” Hermione’s hard glare pinned Kingsley in his exquisite leather armchair. “After getting my Hogwarts letter, I’d always thought this was where I wanted to be. I’d thought—”

Her voice hitched with emotion but she scoffed it away.

“—I thought I’d finally found the place I belonged—where I’d be _respected_. Then I found out the truth. Of this ‘community’. Of its prejudices. I had them carved into my skin—into my bloody _soul_ from the moment I set foot here! But it was...being hated _here_ was even a little bit better than being just a freak _there_.

“And then we were at war. One that was to change everything, win or lose—and we _won_ , Kingsley. We _won_ , that bloody war! Only it hasn’t changed a damned thing, has it? Every piece of this new world is still steeped in the old ways with a kinder mask to throw us all off. I thought I’d come home from that war a hero but I can see now that I’m still just another casualty, ready to be sacrificed yet _again_ for 'the greater good'.”

Hermione snatched the final page of the contract from the stack on the desk between her and Kingsley, slamming it in front of him with a heavy hand. She leaned in, picked up another of the quills on his desk and shoved it directly into his hand this time.

“You can call this whatever the hell you want, _Minister_. You can stamp your seal, wave your wand, sign your papers with the most charming smile you have in your arsenal, but if this is all we are, what’s the point? Sign one thing away today, another tomorrow. My—”

She swallowed down a lump in her throat, shaking away the tremble of her voice. From the corner of her eye, she caught the way Draco stared at her – something between shock and pity – and her tone went flat.

“What I’d intended for my own body doesn’t mean anything to you, but it _surely_ meant something to me. Perhaps now you'll think about the lives you'll forever have touched with this – the ones that’ve already completed their dues after being scared into submission by your fines and fees and legalized _threats_ jeopardizing their livelihood _._ And maybe...you’ll think about how much those things you value so little may have meant to someone that was once your friend."

Kingsley’s breath hitched at the implication of her last words.

"Hermione, I didn't—"

“I know you didn’t,” she said, quiet and even and cold. “This is strictly business, after all.”

Her shivering hand extended steadily enough for her to press her finger to the bottom line, her glare as frigid as her voice.

"Sign the bloody papers, Minister.”

Kingsley signed.

He signed faster than he'd ever signed anything in his life, hand shaking all the while.

Hermione followed his signature with all the necessary ones of her own and as soon as her quill lifted from the last paper, she turned on her heel and _fled_.

And at last, the tears came.

She needed to leave this place.

She needed to go.

She didn’t know to where, but she _couldn’t_ be there any longer.

Hermione couldn’t sit within those walls pretending as though she didn’t feel violated by the almost bored, callous ease with which her friend appeared to be willing to sign her body – along with countless others’ – away because of ‘pressure’ from the council.

For the entire week of debate and discussion with Draco, she’d been trying to find ways to transfer her life wholly back to Muggle London but the threats from The Ministry were real and savage.

Where was she to go when she’d not existed in the adult Muggle world for so many years?

Who was to hire an adult woman who’d seemingly disappeared off the face of the earth since the age of eleven with no record of parents nor schooling to be found?

It’s not as though being a war heroine was lucrative, either. Nor did she have ample money saved in her vault. Even if she _had_ , everything belonged to The Ministry—or it would. As soon as she tried to leave, it would all be locked down.

One cannot exchange currency when one does not have currency to exchange.

And so she fled to wherever her feet would carry her.

But Draco followed.

He hadn’t even bothered sparing The Minister a glance before he _ran._

“Granger!” he shouted, chasing after her to the lift. “Granger, wait!”

Draco caught her wrist as she was reaching for the button, managing to tug her away.

She refused to look at him.

“You were joking, right?” Draco asked with a tinge of desperation. “Back there—about your— _were you joking?”_

Hope and fear colored his words.

The most selfish part of him wanted everything she’d said to have been nothing more than an amazing and brilliant ploy to get what they needed.

The most intelligent part of him knew it hadn’t been.

“Why?” Hermione hissed through gritted teeth. “Planning to mock me about how I’m overreacting? How ‘prim little Granger’ was saving herself for her ‘prince’? Don’t bother, Malfoy. I’ve heard it all before. Besides, the papers are signed, we got what we came for. What do you care, anyway?”

There was such visceral loathing in those words it struck him like a slap to the face.

Something about that made his chest tight.

“I _don’t!_ ” he snarled back at her out of reflex. “I just didn’t know about your— _situation_ ,” Draco tripped over his own tongue. “I wanted to be sure this won’t change anything, is all.”

It wasn’t why he’d asked or why he’d wanted to know and the excuse felt wrong even as it was leaving his mouth, but he didn’t take it back.

It was a lie; a first from him to her.

A look crossed her features at his reply and it was so raw, so stripped to the bone.

Draco recalled seeing the flicker of something similar directed at Shacklebolt near the end of their meeting before she’d managed to tamp down on it.

Seeing it directed at him now made made everything already aching feel that much worse.

Hermione ripped her wrist free from his grip and punched the call button for the lift. Scrubbing at her tears with the heels of her hands, she afforded him a glare.

“Don’t worry, Malfoy, nothing’s changed with our arrangement. It’s all legally binding now, anyway. Good thing, too, we wouldn’t want the mistake of making any of this personal, now would we?” She meant it mockingly but it sounded hollow and lost. “Just uphold your end of the bargain and leave me alone after we...after we’re married.”

The lift arrived with a _ding_.

Hermione entered, pressed a button for the Atrium, and disappeared behind the cage door without ever giving him a second glance.

It was just as well because Draco’s thoughts had already circled back in on themselves.

Until now, he’d thought Hermione’s objections had been more steeped in principles and activism as they typically were, not something so intimate, so personal—so _traditional._ What’s more, he’d assumed far too much of her hatred of the thing had simply been due to her bad luck of getting _him_ in the match up for this giant shit show.

Hermione’s screeching voice shouting “not everything is bloody about you!” echoed in his head and he snorted a small laugh despite himself.

The humor drained out of him immediately at the remembrance of her other words.

_“Malfoy! Oh my–Merlin, that's too much! I can't accept this!"_

That look...

_"Thank you. This wasn't part of the contract, so...thank you."_

Why should he care?

_"Why..?"_

None of this was _his_ fault.

It wasn’t his responsibility to fix it, either.

That look she’d given him—it didn’t change a bloody thing.

_"Don't lie to me."_

Except for it did...didn’t it?

It changed every damned thing.

Because hers was a look he’d seen on too many faces turned his way after the war.

Not on hers, though.

Not on hers until today.

And not until just then, from that puffy, tear stained face and those tired, bloodshot eyes.

_“If there's anything you've ever done for me that all these other people around me haven't, it's that you’ve been honest…”_

Hers was the look of disappointment.

Of betrayal.

It was the hurt from someone she thought she could depend on letting her down.

_“...I can count on you for that much."_


	6. Chapter 6

"Arnold! No! No, no, no, get out of there!"

Ginny cursed at the pygmy puff gallivanting around in the dishwater while she was trying to clean up from her and Harry's late lunch at home. The little purple poof was soaked and merrily blowing bubbles in the sink having a grand old time without a care in the world. When she pulled him out he cooed and hummed happily, hiccuping up some suds.

"Oh for Merlin's sake...I can't take my eyes off you for a moment, now can I?"

The roar of the fireplace sounded as Ginny dried the little creature with a nearby dish towel. Thinking Harry had forgotten something, she didn't even turn when she heard the approaching steps coming into the kitchen.

" _Now_ what did you— _Hermione?_ " When she spotted the other woman in the doorway, arms wrapped about her torso looking absolutely wrecked, Ginny ran to her side at once. "What happened to you?! Come in! Come here, sit down!” she said, steadying Hermione’s wobbling form as she led her down into the closest chair.

"Hey Gin,” Hermione croaked, giving her a small smile as though she hadn’t just shown up at her friend’s house out the blue, looking like an utter shitmess. “Would you mind if I...if I hung out here for a bit?”

Truth be told, Hermione didn’t even realize where she’d Flooed to until she recognized her best friend’s living room.

After her hasty exit from The Minister’s office, she hadn’t lingered any longer than she had to. Hermione fled to the ground floor with the intention of Flooing home only to decide she desperately didn’t want to be _there_ , either; she wasn’t ready to bring the reality of this whole mess home yet. Instead, the majority of the remaining lunch hour was spent wandering the area near her neighborhood but the unsubtle gawking of the people she passed on that walk, led her back home.

_'Hadn’t those people ever seen a grown woman having a complete breakdown in public before? Honestly…'_

At least the crying had stopped, although Hermione knew the evidence was still plastered all over her face by way of the dried tear tracks and her puffy red eyes. She suspected she was going to have an awful headache come the morning - if not sooner - if the swelling of her sinuses and her inability to breathe through her nose was any indication.

“Of course you can!” Ginny said quickly, tugging a chair over to sit at her friend’s side. Her hands came up to comb away Hermione’s curls where they were stuck to her face. Scanning her from head to toe in search of any visible signs of injury, she asked again in a softer tone, “What happened?”

Hermione turned sluggish, swollen eyes up to look at her friend, almost surprising herself again when Ginny’s face sharpened in her vision. She shook her head, trying to get her bearings and keep her mind from floating off again, but it was difficult. It kept wanting to wander, especially when she caught sight of the woman’s expression.

Terrified and full of concern, there was also a hint of anger sparkling in Ginny’s eyes. That anger was familiar. It was something she’d seen so many times on her or others’ behalf when injustice was in the air and “someone needed a beating”–Ginny’s words. It was an anger at who or what did this to her and, if Hermione decided to tell Ginny anything, it would bloom into a vengeful, _explosive_ rage.

That was the kind of look that _should_ have been on a friend’s face...not a stoic, bland mein with a tired voice full of calculations and figures and _excuses_ as to why it was perfectly okay to demand your friend sign their life over to your stupid _law_ on threat of their livelihood.

Thinking of it all again, of Kingsley, of _Draco_ , Hermione’s lip started to quiver again.

The familiar sting at the backs of her eyes returned and judging by the deep furrow of Ginny's brow, Hermione guessed she was crying again–she couldn't tell anymore. Her cheeks were numb. Her lips were numb. _She_ was numb.

That is, until the pressure of Ginny’s arms came, encircling her shoulders in a warm hug. At that, Hermione crumbled.

Her day came back to her in seconds and what remained of that carefully constructed cage around her emotions collapsed. A wretched sob tore from her throat and she buried her face in Ginny’s neck, feeling a responding squeeze and a warm hand rubbing circles between her shoulder blades. Hermione's shoulders shuddered with her flood of tears and wails ripped from her throat with every soothing word in her ear and stroke along her back.

“I’m sorry–I’m sorry!” Hermione blubbered between frame shaking sobs. “I’m sorry–I didn’t know where to go–”

"Shh, shh, it's okay, love. It's alright. You’re always welcome here, understand? _Always._ Anytime you ever need me or Harry–even Arnold!” The last tricked a sobbed laugh out of Hermione. “Or even if you just need a place to stay, you can always come here,” she said, nestling her chin atop her friend’s curly head and hugging her tight.

Ginny continued her murmurs of reassurance, cooing and shushing the other witch’s sobs away until her body calmed into fewer, finer trembles and the hands clenching her top loosened their death grip.

Since Hermione hadn’t been in any shape to relay the message of what sent her into such a state when she arrived, while she wrung herself out, Ginny rattled her brain for what could have had a miserable, sobbing Hermione Granger popping into her living room in the middle of the day.

After several dismissed theories about job-related woes, Ginny’s circled back to the nonsense of this Marriage Law business. Ever since the letters had gone out, what little she’d heard from Hermione had been notably strained, especially since she found out _who_ it was she was to be partnered off to.

Although Ginny hadn’t been privy to any new developments in Hermione’s Marriage Law experience, there was one very common source for Hermione’s anguish over the past decade and change who also happened to sport a new title as the woman’s fiance.

_‘Malfoy.’_

Ginny’s expression darkened, her grip around Hermione’s shoulders tightening even more.

 

* * *

 

 Having resisted his urge to follow Hermione again after she disappeared in the lift, Draco returned to Kingsley’s office to retrieve his and Hermione’s signed copies of their paperwork. Neither he nor The Minister shared much of any words upon his return. What The Minister _did_ say with his uncharacteristically haggard expression was that he would help them find a suitable home in a Muggle neighborhood before their marriage deadline. He also made it clear that said deadline would be extended an additional week due to the technicality of the Acknowledgment being signed just that day. Since they’d not signed til a week later than the rest of the community, Kingsley vowed to make sure they had their dedicated two weeks to complete the vows.

The phrase “too little, too late” crossed Draco's mind as he returned to his office, rolled up his sleeves, and set to finishing his day’s work.

Only to immediately become distracted.

This whole thing was a big bloody mess.

Draco found himself feeling resentful towards the man who was so obviously now trying to make amends in any way he could. Hell, Draco found resentment in _himself_ for not trying harder to fight against this thing–to do something that would scrub that horrible disappointed look off Hermione’s face.

It was times like this where he still envied Harry Potter and his penchant for always coming out on top but even that was soured by the additional internal commentary that there was a _reason_ for all the wizard’s stupid luck.

And that reason was Draco’s future wife.

Draco groaned and tossed away the proposal he was supposed to be reviewing when he realized his eyes had glossed over the parchment some fifty times already.

Heaving a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair and sunk further into his office chair. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way Hermione’s face looked up at him in front of the lift doors. Maybe there would be a day when he _wasn’t_ disappointing someone but whenever that day would come, he didn’t expect it to be soon.

Swiveling back and forth in his chair, Draco chewed at the inside of his cheek, drumming both sets of fingers on his armrests and scowling. He was chastising himself to get back to work and about to make good on his not-so-kind pep talk to himself when he stopped his fidgeting abruptly in the face of a strange buzzing energy.

Draco frowned down at his left arm, spotting his fading mark easily from the removed cover of his sleeve. Normally, he took to keeping that particular brand of shame under wraps but wallowing in his awfulness had been appealing at the time; also, it’d been stuffy inside.

The mark didn’t concern him at the moment, however. What _did,_ was the heightened pitch of that buzzing and also the way the fine blond hairs on the backs of his arms prickled and stood on end. Before he had a chance to think any further, that warning buzz grew into a blaring alarm in the back of his mind and he launched himself out of his chair and behind his desk just as his office door blew open and a violent _reducto_ came whizzing to where his head had been about a millisecond before.

The plaster was still falling from the newly created hole when his desk was forcefully ripped away to expose him. The heavy object slammed up against his office door, very clearly shutting off that escape. Among the clearing dust, a blurry outline of a slim feminine figure with long fiery hair appeared.

As soon as he made out who it was, Draco growled.

" _Red?!_ What the everloving fuck–"

" ** _REDUCTO!_ ** "

And Draco was rolling, rolling, rolling to avoid the next blast. He thanked the stars for his stubborn persistence in keeping up his combat training on the off chance the Auror department ever decided to give him a go. If he hadn’t, he was fairly sure he’d be in less of a state of ‘rolling to avoid certain doom’ and more ‘being splattered all over his office’.

Scrambling to his feet, Draco summoned his wand with a silent _accio_ , getting a shield up in time to deflect another violent blast.

The fact that nobody had come to see what all the ruckus was about yet - especially with his office already half in shambles - led him to suspect that the weird buzzing he’d felt just before her entry was some kind of silencing spell. That or everyone else just hated him that much and would be happy to have his death on the hands of a decorated war veteran who was practically untouchable via so many laws.

Either was a valid guess.

 _Why_ Ginevra Potter was in his office trying to kill him was the better question. A question that would have to be answered when she _wasn’t_ pointing her wand at him.

" ** _REDUC–"_ **

" ** _EXPELLIARMUS!"_ **

Ginny’s wand ripped out of her hand and into Draco’s with a loud slap. He caught her instance of surprise at the move and had a few microseconds of smugness filter through him before he was bowled over by her full bodied running tackle.

Draco fell hard onto the piles of his busted office walls and an array of dirty, damaged papers with the witch barely giving him any time to register the floor beneath him before a fist came flying towards his face. He moved his head to the side just missing getting a pasty skinned set of freckled knuckles in his face to refresh the nearly healed bruises her brother had graced him with.

“Stop wriggling, you ferrety shite!” Ginny growled when her previous blow connected with the tile and she reared back for another.

“Bleedin’ hell, woman!” Draco shouted, blocking her next flurry of blows with his arms until he spotted an opening and caught her wrists.

With her advantage stifled, Draco held onto her arms like his life depended on it and curled his legs between them as best he could to launch her off his body. Ginny went flipping over his head, propelled by Draco’s kick to her pelvis and thighs where she landed a few metres away with a loud _crunch_ onto the debris. Scrambling off the floor, Draco whipped his wand at her.

 _“Incarcerous!"_ he yelled, lightning quick. He allowed himself a brief moment of refuge after the thin ropes shot from his wand and coiled around the foaming, frothing redhead, tightening down more and more around her struggling form until all she could do was curse.

Panting, his shoulders and chest heaving, and with his very nice, very _expensive_ clothing covered in dust, dirt, and other things, Draco finally addressed her.

"What in Salazar's name has gotten into you, you fucking crazy bitch?!"

Draco received a whole mess of hissing and spitting and cursing for his trouble and he rolled his eyes, casting a quick silencing spell on her as well.

Cycling through a few calming breaths - an excellent exercise he’d learned over the years of dealing with one Hermione Granger - he retrieved her wand from the rubble before she managed to somehow procure it and hex him from her binds. Draco rolled the wood between his fingers several times, staring between it and the ginger girl tied up and struggling on his office floor.

While he had no clue as to the reasoning for the Missus to come calling for his head, Draco knew with absolute certainty that if her Mister were to find out about this, the Boy Wonder himself would be next.

He frowned.

Draco shook some of the dust from himself before waving his wand over his clothing to _scourgify_ the rest of it. Pressing his lips together in a thin line, he returned to crouch by Ginny’s side where she was still angrily moving against his bonds.

"Listen,” he began only to have her wriggle more furiously than before, “Hey– _HEY!_ Stop it!"

Ginny finally stilled though her glare didn't lessen.

“So...here’s the deal…”

Ginny narrowed her eyes, giving him as scathing a look as one who was bound and magically gagged could give a person.

“Contrary to popular belief around here, I don’t have a death wish nor do I have the time to deal with whatever this is or whatever ill thought out plot your hubby would come up with to avenge the fact that I tied up his wife on my office floor. So I’m going to release you.”

She opened her mouth to say something despite her silenced state but Draco held up her wand in a way to ward her off. While holding it above her head, he made very particular eye contact to ensure he had her full attention. Ginny scowled.

“I will give it back to you _if_ you promise not to kill me immediately after and then we will discuss whatever _this_ was–” Draco motioned to the remnants of his office. “–like adults.”

It was a risky thing to do if he were being honest but the alternative would be to keep her bound and try to force information out of her that way–which he had zero faith would work. He’d also not been lying when he said he _didn’t_ have a death wish. Prolonging Ginny Potter’s “capture” wouldn’t be doing him any Potter favors, even though he was the victim. But it wasn’t as though anyone would care about that minuscule detail, anyway.

No. His family had played The Ministry game far too long and he knew exactly the sort of things people could unsee or unhear for the right people and the right price. Now that the board had flipped, he held no delusions as to where he ranked on the ladder these days.

“Does that sound like a plan?” Draco asked in as patronizing a tone as he could muster.

Her scowl deepened but she nodded.

_"Promise?"_

The splotchy redness that’d been in her face throughout her attack deepened and Ginny bared her teeth, mouthing the word back to him: _Promise._

"Okay,” Draco said, standing up and backing up a few steps.

Eyes fixed on her with his body ready to move at the slightest twitch, Draco waved his wand and dismissed both the silencing and binding spells. Warily he watched her but she didn’t say or do anything right away. Once she appeared safe enough, he held a hand out to help her up and when she was on her feet again, her free hand shot out to rocket a punch into him in his non-bruised cheek.

Draco howled in pain, reeling and clutching at his face.

 _“BLOODY–_ ** _FUCK!_ ** _YOU FUCKING PROMISED!!”_

"I promised I wouldn't try to kill you!” Ginny snarled. “And you're not dead, are you?"

He snorted and immediately winced.

_‘Brilliant. Those are the Weasleys for you. Who fucking needs magic when you can just beat the piss out of someone with your fists? Barbaric idiots.’_

"No,” Draco said at last. “...I suppose not."

The two shared a glare and, making good on his word, he held her wand out to her, readying himself just in case he needed to dodge away. When the woman snatched it from him and shoved it into her back pocket, already launching into another angry tirade, he held up his hands.

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa _WHOA!_ **_No!_**  You just tried to blow my head up, so **_I_** would like to fucking ask some questions now. Is that okay with you?"

Ginny sneered. " _Fine._ Ask away you pathetic excuse for—"

Draco silenced her again with a wordless spell and glared, continuing with his question.

“I’d _love_ to know what brings you here to my neck of the woods today, Mrs. Potter?" He gestured around him at the still crumbling debris with a sneer to rival hers. "Redecorating? Or was it something else?"

Ginny waited for him to lift the spell again so she could speak, trying to maintain as much of her head as she could in the face of this king–sized git. "Like _you_ don't know! Hermione is why I'm here!"

Some of Draco’s ire left him at mention of his fiancee. He recalled the last he’d seen her – _how_ he’d last seen her – and he frowned. He didn’t think anything serious could have happened to her in such a short span of time–if it _had,_ he surmised he would’ve been notified _not_ by way of assassination.

Tamping down on the multitude of questions that buzzed to life in his head, Draco settled on asking, “What about Granger?”

With a scoff, Ginny marched right up to him, jabbing him in the chest with a finger as though it weren't completely insane to be standing in the middle of a room she'd just blown to bits on an enraged whim.

"Don’t give me that bollocks!" Ginny said. “You know very well ‘what about’!”

Draco blinked. Once. Twice. He waited for her to elaborate, but nothing more came. His brow creased and his irritation grew, as did a niggling unpleasantness in his gut that he didn’t have a name for.

“What’re you on about, Red?” he growled. “Why the fuck are you here? And why the _fuck_ are you blowing up my office on her behalf?! Did something happen to her or not?”

Ginny’s murderous glower returned and she jabbed him in the chest again, harder.

"Don't act like you're bloody clueless, you git! She came to me after lunch _sobbing!_ Appeared in the house and walked into my kitchen like a fucking zombie hardly able to speak, she was such a wreck! She only managed to get out a bit about your stupid arse and some meeting with The Minister–I **_know_ ** you’ve done–"

Draco pushed into Ginny’s still jabbing finger, straightening to his full height to tower over the witch with his stature. “Granger came to you after she left here?” he asked, cutting her off.

“Of course she did! She–"

"And _where_ is she now?"

Ginny was taken aback. If she didn't know any better, he almost looked concerned.

"She's at my house, sleeping off the headache _you_ caused! I don't see what that has to do with–"

Draco sneered down at her and for just a _second_ , an icy cold flicker of outrage passed through his eyes; the blood on his lip from her punch made him look all the more menacing.

“So you just left your emotionally distraught _'friend'_ to her own devices when you, yourself, just said she was practically _mute_ in her dismay? You know, maybe I was giving you too much credit all these years for being the only one in your family with any sort of sense!”

Bristling, Ginny stammered to defend herself. “Hey! Don’t you dare make this about _me_ , you prat! Hermione is safe and sleeping! She’d worn herself down to a bloody nub with all this mess happening and having to be stuck with _you_ of all people. What did you do to her at that meeting that made her come crying to me? And don’t you dare lie to me, Malfoy, or our deal’s off!”

Hermione’s voice echoed in his head.

_Don't lie to me..._

Draco’s jaw clenched.

The words rattled in his skull and the image of Hermione's tear stricken and dejected face tore to the surface of his memory.

With a bone weary sigh, the fight bled out of him and Draco swiped a hand over his face. He cast a glance around his office to find the nearest, stable piece of furniture – an overturned filing cabinet – and made his way to sit and slump on its surface.

"I'm sure you'll find this impossible to believe,” he said, “but for once, it wasn't actually _me_ that’s done it."

 _‘Well,’_ he thought, _‘not entirely me.’_

"Not you?" Ginny snorted in disbelief, folding her arms. "Then who the hell did? And _why_ was she so upset? What happened?"

"You'd have to ask your ‘friend’ The Minister. Or Granger herself." Draco shrugged. He toed some of the nearby rubble with the edge of his shoe, knocking it around with idle fascination. "It's not really my place to say."

Ginny frowned deeply, more than ready to argue, but seeing the droop to his shoulders and the way he had his own grimace in place caused her some pause.

Draco’s eyes were downcast towards the bit of junk he was nudging with his foot but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

Softening her posture as well as her tone somewhat, Ginny let in a hint of earnest pleading to color her question. “Malfoy...what happened up there?”

He sighed.

He wasn't lying – it _wasn't_ his place to share something like that.

Draco thought of Hermione and felt a sickness in his stomach at the position The Minister put both of them in.

Thinking on it more and more, he kept coming back to one thing that continued to dig and dig and dig underneath his skin and it wasn’t the why of it.

The way he figured it, the reasonings of why were moot. Knowing her like he did, Draco knew there had to be a reason that likely wasn’t as wistful or arbitrary as ‘waiting for her prince to arrive’ like she mocked in the hall. No, there was surely something else running through that noggin of hers. But he wasn’t concerned with that.

What bothered him most was simply how much it bothered _her_.

Now, Draco would be the first to admit he’d enjoyed seeing her upset or unhinged in the past – in the very recent past, at that – but it’d always been his job to get her there. He’d also never her pushed her to _this._ Not after things shifted from the seriousness of war to merely passing jabs with someone in the office.

As it so happened, he’d perfected the fine technique of push and pull to get her so very close to that edge where her hair would frizz, her cheeks would deepen with color, and she’d fling the most vivid off the cuff insults his way in a dialect of vulgarities he hadn’t even known she knew. And they could go on that way for hours if work didn’t get in the way!

Draco fancied himself an artist and an incited Granger was his greatest piece of work–and he, hers if he were to give her proper credit; which he would not.

That's what it was.

Someone else had brought her there this time, to that edge–beyond it.

Someone that she held in the highest regards as her friend.

_Someone she trusted not to let her down._

It made his blood simmer.

Slytherin folk were not known for their more admirable traits by anyone, but if there was one thing that was instilled into most of them, it was solidarity amongst those truly loyal to you.

Friends, _real_ friends, were nearly impossible to come by. The ones that would protect you, sacrifice for you, and die for you in good times and in bad came few and far between. You didn't abandon that. You didn't sell that. You didn't _sign_ that shit away ‘for the greater good’. Everyone else was fodder or pawns in the game, but those...those you didn't sacrifice. You kept them and favored them because, unlike the rest, they weren't expendable.

People called Slytherin folk selfish. Draco preferred to think of it as practical. Maybe Shacklebolt's little law will have their population rebounding in no time, maybe it won't, but regardless of the outcome, if there was anything to be salvaged of his relationship with Hermione, it would take a lifetime to get back.

In Draco's book, that was bad form.

Ginny called in irritation, "Ferret?"

"I'll make you a deal," he piped up suddenly, the tiredness creeping into his words.

"...o..kay?"

"I’ll tell you who’s responsible for Granger’s current state and all the details I can of that meeting but you have to swear on your name as a witch that you will tell _no one_ that I told you. You also have to swear that you won’t go on a raging warpath to kill the responsible party.” Draco held his hand. “Deal?”

Ginny eyed the outstretched hand with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. "Why would you want me to promise not to go after who's responsible?"

"Well, I would like to remain employed and alive, for one. That's a bit difficult to do when people you work for get exploded into pieces and–" He motioned to the rubble. "–everyone tends to accuse you first whenever anything goes wrong."

She had the decency to look guilty, albeit barely. “Yeah, well–” Ginny paused, her thoughts derailed as soon as she replayed what he’d just said. “Wait. Did you say people you work _for?”_

Draco quirked a single eyebrow and had enough energy to flash her a smirk that had him wincing from his busted lip for the effort. “Shake on it first.”

For a brief second, Draco doubted she would go for but then that iron grip of hers came clamping down around his hand for a firm shake.

“I swear that I, Ginevra Potter, won't repeat a word of what you tell me, that I won't tell anyone we spoke, and I won't kill whoever is responsible."

Draco kept her hand firmly in his, half tugging her back when she tried to pull away.

"You also have to help me clean this up,” he added.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine."

"Also don't tell Potter I flipped you."

" _Fine_."

" _Or_ that I tied you up–"

" _FINE,_ _MALFOY!_ Merlin! Get on with it!"


	7. Chapter 7

The evening after she left the Potter home found Hermione curled up on the floor of her bedroom closet.

Boxes sprawled out all around her, some stacked, some with their lids half on or hanging off an edge, and others clearly upended with documents spilling out onto the carpet. In the corner of the closet, she sat with her knees pulled tight to her chest, hair a barely tamed mess, and an arm wrapped about her legs while she ran her fingers of the opposite hand over a small three ringed picture album. The album was modest and unassuming in size with a puffy vinyl cover that she supposed had been trendy or cute in the decade it was purchased but now just looked like a time lost artefact. Its cover had dings and scratches and scrapes all along the front, back, and spine and – until now – she'd left it carefully buried; very _purposefully_ buried.

Five years.

She wondered just how much a person could change in five years.

Hermione set the album down at her side, not daring to open it, lest her tears start fresh and new. Her glazed stare scanned over the piles around her to locate a well worn manila envelope, fat and swollen with paperwork inside. The edges of it were no better than the album: worn and wrinkled with an outside tinted a dingy color in the spots where oil from sweaty palms dried after hours and hours of handling. She took a deep breath and, with no small amount of courage, reached inside to look at sets of papers she'd seen too many times since the end of the war.

 

. . . . .

 

_Tiny legs hung off the edge of the seat, swinging back and forth easily._

_Hermione's chubby little hands gripped at the chains of the swing as her father approached from the direction of their house. She beamed with childish delight as he took a seat in the swing next to her and scooted his way close enough to her side to be able to reach out and push._

" _Happy anniversary, Daddy!"_

_Mr. Granger grinned down at his daughter. "Why thank you, my little bug. Did Mummy tell you it was our anniversary today?"_

_Hermione's bushel of curls bounced excitedly with her nods, making him chuckle._

" _And you know what that means, sweetheart?"_

_The little girl rocked lightly with each gentle push from her father's hand nodding again with confidence. "It means you and Mummy have a party! Like on my birthday!"_

_He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face._

_"Well...you're not wrong!"_

_Leaning forward, he made himself more comfortable in his seat, pressing his face against the chain to get more leverage on propelling her swings with no regard to how his cheek smooshed into the metal links. The sound of his daughter's giggles were enough to occupy him and put a lopsided grin on his face._

_"Your birthday is like an anniversary, too.” Mr. Granger explained gently. “They're both similar–very much like the same thing."_

_Hermione rocked into each movement, dipping forward when she would swing back, and back when she would go forward. She was so concentrated on the task of boosting herself higher with the help of her father's pushes that she almost missed the talk about her birthday._

_"How are they like the same?" Her dark eyes were huge and full of curiosity now._

_Questions. She always had questions._

" _Well," he began, mulling over how to explain it. "They're both parties where I celebrate the women that are the most important parts of my life!" Mr. Granger nodded, seeming relatively pleased with his explanation._

" _But we celebrate Mummy's birthday, too! So...Mummy gets_ **_two_ ** _parties?"_

_He snorted, shaking his head to himself and grinning down at his little girl whose face was alight with the possibilities of multiple parties._

_"Yes...I guess that's true. Mummy does get two parties."_

" _How can I have two parties like Mummy?" Hermione asked with her head turned to him now, eyes still wide and mouth agape._

_Giving her another solid little push, he watched his girl swing beside him, her question about parties forgotten the moment she took to the air again. Mr. Granger backed up a little on his own perch and let his eyes follow his daughter's form, a private smile settling onto his features._

_"Well...when you grow up – which will be a long, long time from now, you understand – you'll marry someone nice and you'll have an anniversary on that same day every year. Then you can have a party on your birthday AND your anniversary like me and Mummy.” He paused and his face settled into a small scowl between pushes. “But remember, that's a long,_ **_long_ ** _time from now...when you’re to get married."_

_Hermione giggled at his face, losing the rhythm of her swing and coming to an uneven stop. Swiveling a little in the air, she kicked her legs, insistently trying to get herself restarted, but failing miserably with each attempt. Her giggles faded as her concentration grew – her short little legs wiggled in their efforts to reach the grass below but she still couldn't get herself coordinated enough to get the swing rocking again. When her frustration at her failed swinging reached its peak, she felt a solid push at her back, almost scaring her off the seat entirely. Hermione peeked over her shoulder to find that her father had abandoned his own swing to position himself behind her and nudge her back on track._

_And all was right with the world._

_A calm, comfortable silence settled between them–just a father dutifully pushing his daughter on her swingset on a late summer afternoon._

_It stretched on for a long while until at last, Hermione spoke up, breaking it._

" _Daddy?" she said._

" _Yes, sweetheart?"_

" _When I grow up, I'm gonna marry you and Mummy!"_

" _Oh? Is that right?"_

" _Yeah! Then we can have extra anniversaries! We're gonna have tons of parties!"_

_Mr. Granger chuckled at what his daughter, evidently, deemed was utter brilliance and, in fact, why hadn’t he thought of it before?_

_With a shake of his head, he kept nudging her in a gentle swinging rhythm. "Sounds perfect, bug."_

 

. . . . .

 

Hermione released a shuddered sigh, scrubbing her face with one of her hands to pull herself from the memory. After countless minutes of staring at the papers in front of her, her vision finally refocused and she ran her fingertips over them. Hermione’s lips mouthed out the words inked there–words she no longer had to read and were simply ingrained into her memory now from all the times seen these reports on her parents’ whereabouts and activities.

She’d first received them after the war. When things seemed safe enough and everyone was sure the Dark Lord Voldemort wasn’t going to pop out from behind a hedge or from an overly large stock pot this time, Hermione approached Kingsley's new Ministry for help in finding her parents. The work had been quick, all things considered.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger had set up a shop in Australia–they were running a _bakery_ of all things, with a sweets shop on the side. If she'd ever asked about going to one like it as a child, she would've received a stern reprimand about how awful an idea that was and how it’d rot her teeth.

It wasn’t until after her parents were located that Hermione explained what she’d done to ensure their safety before she’d left with Harry and Ron. That was when Shacklebolt had to have a long, serious sit–down with her.

While the _obliviate_ she'd cast on them could be reversed, he’d told her there were serious risks to doing so–particularly for Muggles.

The fact of the matter was, Muggle bodies weren't nearly as resilient or as strong as that of a wizarding citizen and so they were much more susceptible to the inherent negative side effects of magic. Memory charms were especially delicate, even in magical folk–which was why an entire professional Ministry _team_ existed dedicated to the task of erasing and restoring them.

Hermione knew all of this before she’d ever cast the spell, of course.

It wasn’t like her to not research it all into the ground, it was just the safest option at the time. As it were, she'd been prepared for the very real possibility that she would never come back from the battle alive and had just wanted to give her parents the best chance at survival without the added pain of knowing they'd lost their only daughter. When she lived to see the dawn of the next day and was given the good news that her parents had been found, it was a blessing and a curse all at once.

For his part, Kingsley offered to have his best team members go with her to their location and try to restore their memories, but admitted their odds were poor that they’d return to her.

And if they _did_ , what then?

Would they be upset she left them alone, even though they didn't know it?

Would they be mad she used her magic on them to meddle in their minds?

Would they remember their old lives, only without _her?_

Would the restoration backfire and drive them mad?

Or damage their brains?

Or _kill_ them?

Questions; she always had a million of them.

Hermione let those questions bounce around in her mind every moment of every minute of every hour of every day until they lingered like an unpleasant weed. Just when she thought she'd gotten rid of the doubt, it would reappear.

She went on like that for weeks after finding out about their whereabouts.

And weeks changed into months.

Months into seasons.

Seasons into years.

The more time passed, the greater the risk became and the more she justified to herself leaving them there to enjoy the new life they'd made for themselves, coming up with more and more reasons to why it was better along the way.

Still, for every justification, her heart ached a little more and the piece of her that just wanted her parents back concocted just as many ways for her to cope with the possible outcomes.

If she brought them back and they hated her, she would be broken, but at least things would be _right_. They would know who she was and they could come to their own conclusions about the things that she did, happy or not.

If they resumed their old lives without the tidbit of _her_ included in their memories, she would leave them be. Maybe watch them from afar, perhaps become a mysterious benefactor if ever the need should arise, but they would at least know who they once were.

If they went insane from a backfire or a failed spell...well, she would dedicate all her life and time – as much as they needed – to care for them in the way she knew they would have provided her had their roles been reversed.

If the restoration killed them, though…

Hermione’s stomach turned at the mere thought.

It was that last and most final possibility that, even after five years, she couldn't find it in her to work around.

If it killed them...what would she do?

She couldn't put a third party up to such a task, not with full knowledge of what could happen.

Hermione wouldn't leave someone else with what was her responsibility–her fault. At the same time, she wasn’t ready to lose her parents–not like that. And she certainly wasn’t ready to deal with being the one that killed them.

So she was still waiting.

Waiting for the day she’d be ready to bring them back…

...or lose them.

There was so much they'd missed already, what was a little bit longer? They wouldn’t miss anything else important if she continued to wait.

_Only her wedding._

And her first child if she decided to have one...with Malfoy or whoever else. She snorted–as though she had suitors lining up.

Hermione shuddered out another sigh and threw the paperwork aside in disgust. Wrapping her arms back around her legs, she buried her face back into her knees and clenched her eyes tightly shut as though it’d ward off the painful sting of moisture pressing against her eyelids.

The ache in her chest returned full force, worse than before, even.

_It’s better this way._

It was the mantra echoing through her head whenever the doubt crawled to the surface again.

_It’s better this way._

Better to be ignorant of the matter.

_It’s better this way._

At least they weren't missing out on her being happy.

_It’s better this way._

What parent likes to see their child in a loveless marriage anyway?

 _It_ **_would_ ** _be better this way._

Now if only she could get herself to believe it.

 

* * *

 

Draco's hand wobbled on its way to bringing his half filled tumbler to his mouth. Dark amber liquid sloshed around, nearly spilling over the lip, and just when it was to find its purchase, a hand snatched the glass away and set it down with a heavy _clunk_ far, _far_ from his reach.

"I'm cutting you off, mate."

His glassy eyed silver scowl tried its best to focus on the other man moving around the kitchen, his fancy dish towel draped over one shoulder while he bustled and prepared a quaint little meal for two.

"Fuggoff Zabinin...Zabini," Draco said.

Blaise spared a glance to his thoroughly sloshed friend who had assimilated his kitchen island as his new set of legs in order to stay upright. Draco had shown up well past drunk o'clock and had helped himself to another drink or two of Firewhiskey while observing him cook dinner for him and his fiancee.

"Yes, I'll get right on that,” Blaise said, then added, “You know, you're free to leave at any time. I mean...I wasn't sure if you were aware, what with you having invited yourself over while completely shit–faced to my flat and all, but any time now is good. I'll even show you to the fireplace so you can bugger off."

Draco sputtered, sloppily setting himself on the short stool nearby, the distance from his relatively upright posture to where his bum found the seat startling a hiccup–snort from him. Apparently he was amused, though he couldn’t really be sure at this point; his entire body was numb, including his emotions.

"This–" Draco waved his hand around at the items Blaise was chopping into pieces on his cutting board in obvious disgust. "What iz thiss? Last time _I_ checked – which was recent-recent _ly_ – _I_ thought you were rich."

"Your point?" Blaise moved his freshly chopped ingredients into varying sized bowls.

"So. My POINT. Where's the elf?"

Blaise didn't even raise his head, moving to the stove now to check the flame under a large pan, adjusting it manually with the dial below the burner. "Pardon?"

"The ELF! Y'know...the ones that are s'pos'd do... _THAT_. And whas with. The. Stove?"

Blaise moved to a cabinet to produce a fresh glass, setting it down in front of his friend.

"Well, I'm a grown adult that doesn't need an elf to cook and clean for me, for one,” he said. "And the stove? It's a Muggle stove. Cooks much better than the ones back at the manor. The food tastes better from it. Some things magic just can’t get right, much as I hate to admit."

Moving from the glass cabinet to another, Blaise produced a small crystal decanter of very neutral looking liquid. He poured it into the fresh glass and pushed it at Draco.

"One more, Drake. This is lighter than the Firewhiskey so I can stand your drunk mess of a face and you still get your drink."

With a suspicious leer, Draco eyed the glass. It was a color he didn’t remember to match any of Blaise’s preferred liquors, but it smelled familiar enough and his alcohol fuzzed mind was perfectly willing to just go along with it, so he swiped up the glass and slammed it back.

The effects were near instantaneous.

Clutching his head as a horrifying headache bloomed behind his eyeballs, Draco let out a loud, ornery noise sounding more like it belonged to a cranky newborn calf rather than a wizard of his aptitude and stature.

 _“GUH!_ What the fuck _was_ that?!” he groaned.

Blaise smirked, returning to his cooking, now that his pan was properly heated in the downtime of Draco’s dismay.

"Sobering draught. The upside is that it pushes all of that alcohol out of your system so you can stop being your idiot drunken self and I can more easily resist the urge of throwing you into my lit fireplace. The downside being the bastard of a hangover it causes."

Draco was pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets so hard that speckled pictures were twinkling behind them.

"You have a lot of experience with this I take it?" he asked between moans.

Blaise shrugged.

"I have in the past. You know I'm far too busy to get properly sloshed nowadays, though." He glanced over at his wall clock and sighed. "She'll be here in half an hour, so if there was some reason you'd come over dribbling your spittle all over your shirt, you should start talking."

"She?"

"My fiancee, you nit. It's Friday. Friday night is date night. Speaking of, shouldn't you be getting your own self familiarized with your own little bookworm?"

Draco snorted, the action causing him another spike of pain and he thumped his head to the island. The surface was cool and soothing at least.

"Ahh." Blaise finally paused in what he was doing to turn and face the other wizard fully. He crossed his arms and allowed himself a wide grin. "Unless _that_ is the thing bringing you here this evening! So tell me, Draco, what have you done already to ruin everything with your lioness? That _is_ worth my undivided attention, after all. You've had only a week to cock it up, so I can only imagine it to be magnificent."

Growling and ignoring the way it vibrated through his skull, Draco said, " ** _I_ ** haven't done a bloody thing."

 _"Really?_ You, Draco Malfoy, sworn arsehole to all things Granger related, haven’t done anything to tick her off? Mm…’fraid I don’t believe that for one hot second, mate."

"It's the fucking truth! It's bad enough that the Gryffindor idiots all want to string me up for being chained to their little Princess – which, by the fucking way, I did NOT ask for – but you don't believe me either? _Et tu_ , Blaise?"

Blaise chuckled. "Fine. Let's say that you haven't actually done anything this time...yet." He ignored the dark glare from his friend and continued, "Then what is it about her that's got you Flooing to my flat in a drunken stupor?"

"What makes you think it's about Granger?"

"Simple. There are only two reasons that you ever get so pissed you hear colors." He held up his thumb first in way of counting. "Your family." And then added his index finger to the mix. "And women. For once your family seems to be being a little less insane than usual–"

"Hey!"

"–so that just leaves option two." Blaise looked at the clock again, pampered his stir fry a little then took back up his comfortable position against the counter. "Clock's tickin' mate, what's the deal?"

Draco fiddled with the empty glass in front of him, eyes darting between it and the other one closer to Blaise that was still full of _actual_ liquor. His friend just gave him a challenging look and Draco sighed.

"I...can't really say..."

Blaise stared for a few long minutes, the clock hand ticking obnoxiously, louder than the sizzling meat in the pan.

"So...you tried to crash my date night, obviously looking for someone to talk to – because, let's face the facts, I _am_ your only real friend – but you can't talk about it."

Draco clenched his jaw, grinding his back teeth together half in thought, half in aggravation.

He _wanted_ to talk about it–– _Merlin,_ did he want to talk about it––but he'd nearly spilled all the beans to the redhead already today. As it was, he was fairly positive she’d put all the necessary pieces together from what he’d been comfortable enough sharing that, if Kingsley were dead come the morning, he wouldn’t be surprised. She was the cleverest of her friends, after all...behind Hermione, anyway.

Yes...Draco desperately wanted to talk about it, but nothing about it felt right.

"Right then,” Blaise said, pushing off the counter and motioning Draco towards the door. “Out you go!"

On the other hand, it was eating him up inside and he needed advice.

In a panic, Draco scrambled for another way to approach it, an idea popping into his head and causing him to dig in his heels as Blaise came to shuffle him out.

"I can't talk about what happened!" he said quickly. "But–but maybe I wanted to talk to you about a _hypothetical_ situation. With all this marriage tripe and whatall."

A fine, dark eyebrow slowly edged its way up Blaise's forehead and he stopped shoving Draco towards the hearth.

"Hypothetical.” Blaise seemed to think about it for a time, then said, “Right. What of this 'hypothetical' situation?"

" _Hypothetically_ speaking...if you were to be told you had to wed your worst enemy–"

Blaise barely stifled his scoff.

"–and say...you found out that she, or _he_ , in the case of you being a woman and all–"

"Right."

"–was a virgin who’d been saving themselves for their one and only, what would _you_ do? Go."

Blaise blinked several times after Draco's prompting.

The longer the silence stretched, the more fidgety Draco became.

"Waaaait a tick,” Blaise said at last. “You mean Granger’s–"

"NO. Hypothetically! Hypothetically, if you found out–"

"– _hypothetically_ speaking, you think Granger is a virgin?" Blaise pressed.

Draco hesitated and he wet his lips; or tried to, since between the alcohol and the draught his mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

"Hypothetically speaking,” he hedged, “I would have extremely solid foundations upon which to base such an assumption."

"No fucking way. She–"

" ** _Hypothetical!_ ** " Draco warned.

"BUGGER that!" Blaise blew him off without breaking stride. "She had not only Krum's attention for the longest, but Weasley was all over her after school! She's older than you, than _us_ , by a year and not only is she the smartest thing to walk out of Hogwarts in decades, she's got that tight little body, nice tits, and legs that go on fucking forever! Hell, if I’d thought Mum wouldn’t have skinned me alive, I’d have taken her for a round in school. How the bloody hell is she still a virgin?"

Draco was stunned, less by what was being said by his best mate but moreso how a heat, similar to the one that’d coated his limbs from his Firewhiskey, was rapidly spreading through them again, this time with a significant concentration in his face and neck.

He felt a sneer curling his lip at the way Blaise was debasing his fiancee so thoroughly in casual conversation and he heard himself snarl.

"Alright, alright! Enough about her tits and arse and legs!" Draco groused, breezing past the question. "So what am I supposed to do?"

"Well...I've heard the blood of virgins can be used to appease monstrous mythical beasts and bargain for years of peace."

"I'm fucking serious!"

"Fuck, Draco! Those bloody lions will shit a brick! Their Golden Girl is going to be thoroughly shagged, for the first time ever, by _you_ of all people! That's fucking poetic as hell."

 _"BLAISE!”_ Draco’s expression was livid.

Blaise let out a hearty laugh at his friend's expense, completely uncaring at the way Draco's red face glowered at him. Taking a minute to compose himself, he wiped a few tears away with the back of a hand and returned to his cooking, still chuckling.

"You've got your work cut out for you, mate."

Draco groaned and flopped back onto the kitchen stool, burying his face in his hands.

"The fuck am I supposed to do with this? It was already bad enough that we were matched and have to do it all, but now I've got to be her first and be the face of everything that ruins all her plans?"

"Wait." Blaise stopped stirring and gave him another of those quizzical looks. "You're complaining because you _have_ to shag Hermione Granger? Draco...do you have any bloody idea how many blokes would kill to be in that position?"

Picking his head out of his palms, Draco arched an incredulous brow at his friend.

Blaise shrugged.

"You’re an imbecile and Granger's a catch. If it weren't for her bad blood, I doubt you'd have come to my home trying to drink yourself into oblivion tonight."

"Blood's not really an issue anymore," Draco mumbled before he could stop himself, but he knew the man had heard by the way he was staring. With a resigned sigh, he shrugged and rubbed at his face. "We fucking hate each other, Blaise! We hate each other, but I don’t hate her _this_ much. Not enough to–” He stopped himself, thinking of all the terms for what this law would make them do on threat of poverty or other societal torture. His face scrunched. “–I don’t hate _anyone_ enough to do _that_. What’s more, she doesn't want me to–– ** _I_ ** don't want me to, but we're kind of out of bleedin' options! How am I supposed to deal with that?"

Blaise pursed his lips in thought and for the first time that entire evening, he seemed to be seriously considering Draco's situation.

He considered the situation from multiple angles and after several minutes pondering, said, "Okay, how 'bout this? What if it wasn't Granger? If this was just some other woman you were marrying. Let's even say you were in love with her, how would you handle the situation? What would you do differently?"

Draco furrowed his brow, searching his mind for ideas. His eyes glanced around the room of Blaise's kitchen, able to see into the living room–dining room combo of his comfortably sized soon–to–no–longer–be bachelor pad from here.

"I don't know. Dinner?" He waved to the dish that he was preparing. "Some kind of romantic gesture with flowers or jewelry or...a fucking puppy?"

"Drake, mate..." Blaise looked at him seriously. "Since when has Granger struck you as the flower and jewelry type? Also, didn’t she have a _cat_ in school?"

Draco huffed. "Thought we weren't saying it was _her_. Plus, it’s not as though I’ve slept in more girls’ beds than my own...unlike some of us." He gave Blaise a critical look to which the other wizard merely shrugged. “I’ve also never cared for any witches like...that.”

"What about Pansy?" Blaise added thoughtfully, "Hey, were you not her first?"

Draco's frown was even more prominent at the mention of their pug–faced friend. "Yeah well, despite the name, Pansy was _not_ what you would consider a delicate flower. I'd appreciate it if you would leave that one buried also. Merlin knows it took me years to get her off my arm."

"Okay _fine_." Blaise exhaled heavily and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, refolding his arms as he tossed around other ideas in his head. "Let's look at a different situation, then – a scenario, if you will. It _is_ Granger, but you're marrying her of your own accord. Sod the law, the law doesn't even exist. You're getting married because you crazy kids are _actually_ in love and you've got to do 'it' but it'll be her first time. If she's kept it in her pants this long – especially if she was dating you for any amount of time – it probably has some kind of meaning to her... What would you do to soften that blow? What things would the great _Draco Malfoy_ do to deflower his Princess? What would you do differently for that occasion? What would she expect from you, _the man she loves?"_

Draco stared hard into his glass at the few drops that remained of the sobering draught, thinking just as hard.

His mind poked and prodded at everything he knew about the woman he’d argued and traded blows with for ages and was now being forced to marry. He pulled memories from as far back as the first time he'd seen her flick her wand so expertly in their first Charms class together like the little know–it–all she was, to brief glimpses of her form through bodies at war, and even to more recent points in time, willing his subconscious to gloss over the damnedable vision of her tear plastered face.

Draco searched the memories of the past week and beyond for clues.

 

_"...why?..."_

_...she’d looked as though she was trying very hard to pull her thoughts away from something roving around in her head. She’d turned from him, rubbing the cold from one of her arms, looking so vulnerable to him in that quiet elevator, just the two of them..._

 

What on earth could Hermione Granger possibly want from him of all people? She liked books...reading...she seemed to like that piece of jewelry well enough. Maybe she _would_ actually like more?

 

_"Can a man not buy his woman pretty things?"_

_...she’d chuckled at the suggestion and it was hollow..._

_"Maybe if it wasn't you and I..."_

 

What would make her most comfortable if this were happening for real?

 

" _...if there's anything you've ever done for me that all these other people around me haven't, it's that you've been honest..."_

 

How would she want her new husband to handle her with something like that?

 

_"...it's not in our contract, but I would at least like to know I can count on you for that much..."_

 

If Granger were truly his, what in Salazar's name would she expect him to do differently for her first time?

 

_"...don't lie to me..."_

 

Draco lifted his head still frowning, eyes focused to a point far off in the distance when he came to a startling conclusion.

"Nothing,” he blurted.

"How's that?"

"She...wouldn't want me to do anything differently." He looked to Blaise, finding his friend was giving him the most quizzical and skeptical look he could at the answer he'd just provided. "Granger wouldn't want me to treat her any differently at all. She’d just want me to...to just treat her like a normal witch–not a Gryffindor, not a war heroine, not any of the token pedestals people put her on for their agendas or use to pad around her all the time–the bloody woman just wants to be normal!"

Draco popped up off the stool as though he were a genius who'd just made the next greatest discovery since toilet paper.

Blaise, on the other hand, was making to say something––probably call him an idiot for thinking a woman, even one like Hermione, would want to deal with Malfoy in all of his natural glory on a night like that––but was interrupted by the loud _whoosh_ of the Floo activating.

"Time's up!" Blaise said instead.

And just like that, Draco found himself being unceremoniously shoved out of the kitchen and towards the fireplace with extreme haste. If not for digging his heels in and stubbornly shoving away the hands at his back, he might have missed clear sight of a very familiar blonde witch dusting off the strangest puffy silver and green dress.

_"Loony?"_

"Oh, hello Draco," Luna greeted the wizard with her dreamy smile as though one of the last times she'd seen him up close wasn't when she was being held captive in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. "You look well. Save for the fact you reek of alcohol."

Draco’s wide-eyed gaze flashed between Luna and Blaise, the latter giving him the darkest look of _'I dare you'_ he could muster.

"Luna, love, would you excuse us a moment? I was just showing Drake out."

"Yes, I take it that's why you were pushing him into the fireplace after I arrived. Shall I check on dinner then? It smells like something’s burning."

"If it pleases you, pet."

"Alright then." She smiled again and raised her hand in Draco’s direction, her fingers flexing from pinkie to pointer in a wistful little wave. "Nice seeing you again, Draco."

Draco blinked again, raising his hand and mimicking the odd wave she'd given him without thinking about it. “Pleasure.”

A few more shoves had him at the lip of the hearth and Draco turned in his friends palms, one pale brow arched and his entire disposition seemingly over his problems for the moment.

"So...you and Lovegood?"

"Goodnight, mate."

"But–"

" **Good. Night."**


	8. Chapter 8

_Knock knock knock knock knock!_

Hermione grunted into her pillow, swiping at her mouth with the back of her arm before nuzzling back against it.

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!_

She groaned at the persistent noise coming from somewhere in the direction of her front door and scrubbed at her cheek succeeding only in spreading the remnants of saliva across her skin in sticky swathes. With a grunt and sour expression, she sat up, hair sticking in every direction under the sun. Blinking through her half-asleep daze, Hermione made her best attempt at relearning her surroundings and getting her bearings, checking her bedside clock while the knocking continued.

_'Twelve o'clock...noon...on Saturday?'_

Stumbling from her bed, Hermione's feet tangled in her wad of sheets and she tripped onto her bedroom floor. She hissed as her knees collided with the ground and growled at the cotton bindings until finally freeing herself from their clutches so she could crawl around her room looking for her robe. It took some groggy pawing through discarded piles of clothing but she managed to locate and slip into the short silky dressing gown.

Hermione made her way to the front door with the intention of sorting out whatever fool kept pounding on it, bothering only with a few more swipes at her face to free it of drool. The long night of tears had wrung her dry, leaving her with swollen sinuses, a sore throat, and puffy eyes; she had no delusions that there would be any sorting of _that_ out in a timely manner. Nor did she feel particularly inclined to give the wanker disturbing her weekend of wallowing the courtesy of presentation.

If whatever idiot was outside wanted her, they could have her as the terrible mess she was.

Padding to her door to the tune of progressively louder and more aggressive knocking, Hermione unlatched and unlocked and _ripped_ the door open with a savage snarl on her face.

"Cut the bloody— _MALFOY?!"_

Draco's fist was still half-poised to pound on her door when she tore it open. He greeted her with a sneer.

"Granger. Standing me up already?" He looked her over from head to toe, lingering at the hem of her robe where it hit her about mid-thigh before his eyes scanned of their own accord the surprisingly long stretch of sumptuous brown legs for a woman of such short stature. Blaise was right, they really did go on for ages; he swallowed and cursed Blaise for ever mentioning it.

At his inspection, Hermione fidgeted, barely resisting the urge to fuss with her hair or attire. No, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her off kilter, even if she felt it. Besides, she was still struggling with _why_ he was even there in the first place. So focused on it, in fact, she almost missed the nosy heads popping out of nearby doors in her building’s hallway. Cursing to herself, Hermione jerked him inside, shutting and locking the door to her flat behind them and without sparing a second, she assumed her favored position: arms folded, hips jutted to one side, and a glare aimed at Draco’s stupid blond head.

“Malfoy,” she said, wincing at the hoarse croak of her voice. “Do you mind telling me what you’re doing here? On a Saturday? And also, how the _hell_ did you find out where I live?”

Ignoring her questions, Draco wandered further into her flat, appraising the area with his normal, patented sneer. As he moved, he let a hand trail over and along surfaces, pausing at least once at the narrow hall table set between her living space and her dining room. He bent to look at it more closely.

“Is this _real_ wood, Granger, or one of those cheap Muggle knockoffs?” He didn’t bother waiting for her to answer before plucking up one of the knick knacks set on its surface and examining it the same way he would on his boredom walks around her office.

Tromping over, Hermione snatched the decorative box from his grip and set it back on the table. With his same sneer, Draco refocused his attention on her in time to see her fold her arms in a harsh, near violent way that jostled open the neckline of her robe and pushed her breasts into a more prominent viewing position. His sneer faltered a bit at that, and a bit more at the sparkle of his ring, startled by the fact she still wore it in the privacy of her home.

Hermione snarled, breaking him from his observation.

"You have five minutes to tell me why you're here before I kick you back into the street."

Draco pulled his eyes from the glinting jewelry and smoothed a hand over his tie, tsking at her to cover his surprise.

"And here I thought your memory was better than that. We were to look for housing this weekend. Or have you forgotten already?" He sighed, making himself at home and flopping onto her sofa.

Hermione’s eyes went round and her mouth dropped open at the reminder.

_'Shite.'_

The Muggle housing portion of their contract had been a term settled very early in their discussions and originally, with only a week left to get married at the time, they'd needed to complete the search quickly. Before their meeting with The Minister the day before, they _did_ make plans to look into it. Despite Draco’s considerable wealth and his plan to buy something outright, there were still other processing times to consider if they were to be moved in by the deadline. In the aftermath of that trainwreck of a meeting, it’d fallen to priority number "zero" of things on her mind.

Rubbing one of her arms sheepishly, Hermione's anger from before petered out as recollection of conversations trickled back in.

"Right. That...sorry. I suppose I did forget." She began her apologies, well and truly mortified, then paused with a creased brow. "Wait. We never decided on an actual time… And I still didn't give you my address! How did you get here? Why didn't you make a Floo call?!"

Draco was too busy picking little pills of lint off one of her throw pillows and sprinkling them onto her carpet to look up.

"Well, after you so rudely left me to my own devices yesterday afternoon, I decided on a time without you. And that time is now."

Hermione felt a flush of heat creep from her neck into her cheeks, embarrassment washing over her at the mention of her…‘episode’. Here she thought he might have enough social tact to avoid it but clearly, she should've known better. He _was_ Draco Malfoy after all.

" _Again_ ,” she said through gritted teeth, “you could have called before--"

"Tried that," he cut her off, sprinkling lint like a flower girl. "Apparently, you’re well and truly dead to the world when you're busy feeling sorry for yourself."

Her flush of embarrassment quickly turned into something else--something much more like anger.

"You are such a prat-- _STOP_ making a mess on my carpet!" Hermione snatched her pillow away from him with a huff.

Draco smirked up at her from where he sat, crossed his legs, and fixed her with a particularly smug expression. "You're right, of course. Mess on the carpet’s best to be saved for the wedding night."

Realization didn’t reach her eyes immediately. In fact, it took several beats--several _long_ beats of Draco internally panicking that his chosen plan of action was entirely off base--and then he saw it.

It was like watching a slideshow.

First there was confusion.

Next there was understanding.

And then, there was this amazing **_explosion_** of fury as her lips peeled away from her teeth and a disgusted noise tore free from her throat.

“You are such a **_PIG!_ ** _”_ Hermione snarled, chucking the pillow back at his face.

Draco snatched it from the air out of reflex and tucked the pillow against his stomach to continue his pill picking, distracting himself from the sigh of relief that desperately wanted to escape.

"Finding your address wasn't difficult, Granger," he said, dutifully avoiding acknowledging the impassioned glare trying to burn holes through his head. "When you know the right people in the right places, all one needs do is ask. Now, unless you're planning on going like that--much as it’d be a shame to cover up--you should probably get dressed."

Hermione stared down at him, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides. All her sorrow from the previous day was dwarfed and stored away in the face of this insufferable git who was making himself far too comfortable in her living room.

_'The_ **_nerve_ ** _of this man! Did nothing ever faze him?'_

While she hadn’t expected his pity after her admission from the day before--nor did she particularly _want_ it--she _had_ expected some modicum of decency. Most people might think to offer a bit of space, not to simply... _press on_ as though nothing at all had occurred! In fact, most people would likely be awkwardly tiptoeing around her for forever and a day!

Not Draco Malfoy, though; of course, not him.

How would he be able to get so thoroughly under her skin and drive her so batty if he acted like any decent sort of human being?

_‘The arrogant, infuriating, pasty cockroach!’_

Hermione took one long, concentrated, breath – in through the nose, out through the mouth. It was forced what with the swelling of her sinuses from her night of tears but it worked to calm her all the same.

As patiently as she could, Hermione ground out, "Ten minutes. Wait here, I'll get dressed, and we'll get this mockery of an outing over with."

Draco nodded, watching as she padded towards her bedroom and shut the door with a slam and muttering of _‘sodding prick’_ under her breath.

As soon as she was out of sight, he deflated, reclining further into her ugly, yet absurdly cushy sofa. It was all he could do to stifle the aftershocks of adrenaline pulsing through in his system from his nerves over using her fury to overthrow her misery. If it took getting her back on track with some verbal sparring and aggravation, so be it!

Beyond her bedroom door Draco heard her grumbling and growling and no less than three slams of drawers; it all made him feel that much better in the end.

At the end of the day, he'd concluded that she needed normalcy and what was more normal than Draco Lucius Malfoy being a right prick to his most loathed betrothed?

 

* * *

 

It took Hermione more than ten minutes to get dressed and Draco was sure to comment on it until, by the time they met up with Kingsley’s Muggle realtor, the witch at his side was silently fuming.

"Careful of your step on this one, Mister Malfoy, Miss _Gringer_ , the floors were cleaned recently for the showing,” the Muggle woman said as they all tramped into the next house on their listing.

"It's _Granger,"_ Draco corrected the realtor for the umpteenth time on Hermione’s behalf. She’d been taking potshots at the witch for hours now and, frankly, the way she kept looking at her when she thought Hermione didn’t notice was annoying him more than the woman being badgered.

Draco was no stranger to fake people, growing up in an aristocratic setting, social politics were commonplace. While the men he grew up around were conniving, most tended to at least be aggressive about it. The women, however, loved the long game. They leaned far more towards passive aggressive drivel and plotting. Of the many things from those days of old that still got his hackles up, passive aggressiveness was one of them.

Since the three of them began their house hunting excursion, the realtor had obviously seen something in him she liked but nothing ‘worthy’ of it in Hermione. While he wouldn’t fault her for the former, thanks to the latter, she’d been slipping in sideways glances and backhanded comments here and there, trying to poke fun at Hermione’s for anything and everything under the sun ever since.

For the most part, Draco was largely unconcerned about Hermione’s feelings on the matter. He knew her well enough to know none of the digs would get any further than the hardened exoskeleton of Hermione Granger’s lack of shits to give, anyway. That one was a tough shell to crack, even for him, and this woman had _nothing_ on his technique.

No, the aggravation was over this woman’s _aggressively_ passive aggressive attitude. It was driving him batty!

It was a shame, too, because the assistance The Minister provided by way of this group was otherwise jarringly helpful.

Following their meeting, Kingsley had expedited the procurement of a list of Muggle properties and shoved it at Draco by the end of the workday Friday, along with the special contact information for the group their catty realtor worked with. As Draco understood it, they were a rather large secret to most of The Ministry since the Muggle group worked primarily with the Wizarding Protection Program to safely relocate witches and wizards in the wake of danger and trauma. Because of the nature of the program, the group was well versed in moving quickly when it came to procuring and closing on properties and when Draco reached out to their contact person, he was assured if they saw a place they liked, it would be theirs in a mere matter of days.

“My mistake! I apologize, I’m just so terrible with names!” the realtor laughed it off.

“Yes…” Hermione murmured as she examined the hall beyond the foyer. “Must be terrible having to remember more than the name of the bloke you’d like to shag. Might want to write yours down before it leaks out your head with the rest of your drool...”

She mumbled it so quietly only Draco heard and it tricked a laugh out of him. Both women turned to look, one simpering, the other... _not._ Coughing into his hand, he hid his grin behind his knuckles as he willed his face back to stoicism with Hermione’s snark echoing in his ears, fighting his best efforts.

“This one is much more modest a size, only four beds, three baths, no basement-- _no pool_ ,” the woman said with a haughty laugh.

Hermione cast a sideways glance at her before continuing her inspection to the not so dulcet tones of the realtor’s narrative. Neither she, nor Draco cared for her stipulation of a property without a pool but Hermione wasn’t about to care for one and she was certain Draco had no idea how to maintain it so she nixed the idea right out. Beyond that, Hermione had been certain she had no preference of floorplan.

That was, until the first few homes the woman took them through ended up being the size of her flat five times over.

Draco might have been used to such extravagant lodgings but Hermione couldn’t wrap her head around the massive waste of money it would be. Besides, what would two people who signed an _extra_ contract so they wouldn’t have to start a family do with that much space?

The thought of so many unused rooms and bathrooms and _wings_ \--hollow halls that would barely be seen, much less traveled--it made her chest tighten. It would be all the things that made a house everything _but_ a home.

This one, though-- _this_ house piqued her interest from the moment they set foot inside. And, as they made their way upstairs to tour the upper level, Hermione felt a bubbling anticipation growing in her chest. When Hermione caught sight of the loft at the top of the stairs, that bubble popped and with it came a shrill gasp of excitement; her feet were moving before her brain could catch up.

Halfway up the stairs, Draco was startled by the noise and Hermione’s sudden movement.

Hurrying after her, he shouted, “Granger! What’s the-- _oh._ ”

Buzzing like a wee witch venturing into Honeydukes for their first time ever, Hermione Granger stood amid a sea of built in bookcases lining the walls of the loft. The cases were painted a soft white that complemented the plush beige carpeting of the entire upper floor. Some of the cubbies were designed as cubes while others were traditional shelves, all of them expertly finished and perfectly fitted to the room so that in addition to one’s books, they could display figurines, trophies--those knick knacks that Hermione had spread all about her flat--all positioned to masterfully avoid the direct light from the skylight to avoid damages to stored possessions.

Draco relaxed after Hermione’s form came fully into view and he let out a heavy sigh before padding over to join her. Folding his arms and quirking a brow, he smirked despite himself.

“I think I should be surprised that these sorts of things still excite you, pet.” He’d taken on his usual sparring cadence but his words had a hint of honesty to them.

Hermione turned sharply at his endearment, halting in her fondling of the beautiful bookcases with a scowl taking up residence on her face. When she caught the other woman’s sour expression, she willed a strained smile to the forefront instead.

“You know me better than that, _love,”_ she said and both she and Draco shared a private grimace at the stilted sound of the ruse. Clearing her throat, she added, “I didn’t realize these were part of this listing.”

Fighting her own scowl, their realtor reappeared—closer to Draco’s side than he preferred—and said, “Ah, yes. My apologies, Miss Granger, you didn’t seem the reading sort so it must’ve slipped my mind.”

Hermione gave the shelf one last loving stroke, delighting in the smoothness of the wood before turning to Draco. Quicker than he could react, she slid both her arms along the length of one of his, entwining their fingers while very deliberately ensuring her hand with her engagement ring was on top. Hermione felt him stiffen at her side but leaned further into it while ignoring how pleasant he smelled--it was less of a scent and more a feeling. Draco smelled the way a drink of fresh spring water tasted: refreshing, cool, and crisp. She shook off the intrusive thought and flashed as brilliant a smile as any she’d ever entertained to their realtor.

“Oh, I’m simply a collector. I like the smell but my _fiancé_ here simply adores reading. He even reads me the ones without pictures sometimes--it would be far more for him than me. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

Draco blinked dumbly at the sensory overload of having a warm, supple Granger cuddling his side and calling him by his given name; if one of those things wasn’t strange enough, _both_ of them must have meant he’d gone insane. It wasn’t until their realtor started stammering that he realized what she was up to and he let out a snort.

“Ah-oh! Oh, of course!” The woman laughed a little too shrilly. “Of course you are, Mister Malfoy—th-the reading type. I mean—“

_“I’m this close to pushing her over that banister,”_ Hermione grit out from behind her brilliant smile.

It turned out Draco had been wrong about Hermione’s tolerance levels towards the woman. With that revelation out in the open, he set his mind to ending this headache of an outing, once and for all.

Grinning, more for the realtor than for Hermione, Draco leaned in to hide his face among the nest of curls escaping from her hair clip in its laughable attempt of taming them. The feel of her hair tickled over his cheeks and roused goosebumps on his skin. He pressed closer to hide his faltering expression.

_“Follow my lead, Granger,”_ he whispered then came away from her as though he’d just pressed a kiss to her cheek and addressed the realtor. “How much was this one?”

“ _This_ one?” Even in her frazzled state, the snotty question made it free from the Muggle woman’s lips. Recovering herself, she produced the folio she’d been carting around with them and looked over the house’s listing sheet. “Ah, this one is listed for 600--” She paused to do some calculations. “--about 200,000 Galleons before fees.”

Hermione choked.

"It’s _how_ much?” she asked, breaking character before she could help herself.

Draco squeezed Hermione’s hand in warning.

Hermione sputtered, still in shock, but ungracefully added, “I--I mean, why is this one as much as those others? You said it yourself, it's significantly smaller."

The woman shrugged, arms wrapped snugly around her metal clipboard and the condescending smile on her face back for more.

"Location, location, location!” she said. “Always location. This one is smaller, yes, but it's closer to the city proper. Really, it's quite a good deal, but I completely understand if it's more than _you_ would like to spend. I'm sure I can find something a bit more suitable."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at the woman's ‘helpful’ suggestion. A retort was on her tongue, ready to point out the slight meant for her was insulting her precious eye candy as well when Draco lifted their still joined hands and led her left one into the delicate beam of sunlight filtering in through the skylight. Hermione felt him press flush against her back and was too startled to keep track of anything aside from how _solid_ he was behind her. His chest was firm and unyielding and although she’d never seen him in anything beyond Ministry uniforms and dress robes, she _felt_ the strong, lean cords of muscle stretching with his movements.

"Look, _love_. It's changing your stone already. The light in this one is absolutely _brilliant_."

Hermione watched Draco tilt her hand to catch the light while making sure to display it blatantly to the Muggle woman. She dared a peek out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help the delicious satisfaction at seeing the realtor fighting against a frown--poorly--with her eyes honed in on the sizable display of the rare stone. The vindictive part of her reared its head, seeking vittles and Hermione felt no inclination to deny it.

Spite was a hell of a motivator.

"It's too much to be practical, _dear_." Hermione turned large, watery eyes towards the man behind her and batted her lashes. She saw his mouth twitch in a restrained smirk. "We _just_ can't afford it."

Draco scoffed, lowering his voice to dramatic stage whisper. "Nonsense! If this is the one, then cost is no matter. Do you like it, _my heart?_ "

Hermione tamped down on the snort at the newest endearment and shook her head. She made to pull free from his grip, her right hand coming up to press to her forehead in _utter_ dismay as she played the part of a hesitant home buyer-slash-bashful lover as best she could without vomiting. "It's too pricey!"

"Hermione," Draco chided, raising his voice into a more rigid tone at her faked reluctance.

His use of her first name caught both of them off guard as was evident by the quick turn of her head to catch his stare again.

Draco had seen those eyes looking at him plenty of times, but with as wide as they were now, staring up into his so closely in genuine surprise, he couldn't for the life of him figure how he’d never noticed how many different shades of browns and golds made up their color.

Hermione faltered under his inspection, thankful when the tension in his face eased and his cool smirk settled back into place.

"Say the word, _darling_ , and it's yours."

' _Did other women really like all of this attention?’_ Hermione thought with a forced smile. ‘ _It was bloody nauseating.'_

Turning her body in his arms and suddenly realizing how tall he actually was, Hermione draped her arms over his shoulders at the most neutral point they could sit and still make the act appear intimate.

" _Please,_ honey?"

His grin appeared suddenly, fresh and real. Draco wished for the life of him that _anyone_ were there to witness the act of Hermione Granger, bossy proposal drafter extraordinaire, saying _“please.”_

"Of course, _kitten_. Anything for you," he purred with delight only half feigned.

Hermione rolled her eyes, a movement their realtor – who’d taken to fidgeting uncomfortably – missed entirely, and she found herself smirking. Draco looked like a totally different person when he grinned or smiled like that. It was that boy she remembered from her first year before anyone knew anyone and they’d all been buried by politics and prejudice--it was a stark contrast between his normal sarcasm and snark.

If Hermione were to allow herself an opinion, she might say smiling looked good on him.

"Looks like we have a house then!" the realtor piped up to interrupt their sickening display before she had to witness anymore. "I'll get started on the paperwork at your word."

" _Excellent._ "

Draco was smirking down at the brunette witch, hands resting lightly over her hips in the dip of her waist without thinking of it; they settled very nicely there. Despite their out of place physical contact, he caught Hermione grinning at succeeding in their joint efforts of putting the other woman down.

If Draco allowed himself to think it, he might have thought that look suited her brilliantly.

 

* * *

 

"That would look terrible in the dining room, Granger."

"The one _you_ want is too expensive!"

"Whatever, it's not like you're paying for any of it."

"Only because the bloody contract won't let me! And you’re already spending too much on the house! Honestly, it's such a waste of money. Why can't we use what furniture we have?"

Draco grunted and tapped the Muggle ink pen against the magazines they were looking through with no shortage of frustration. "And have it all mismatched? That would be just lovely."

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked at her own magazine again, grumbling under her breath, "You're such a ponce..."

The pen came flying at Hermione from clear across the table to bonk her on the top of her bent head. When she shot upright she saw Draco suppressing his smirk, his fingers tapping against his own book now instead. He looked at her and lifted a brow with a shrug before going back to viewing the pictures on the glossy pages.

A quiet moment passed between the two of them before the pen soared back across the table at Draco's perfectly parted white-blond hair. Hermione had a solid bead on the top of his idiot head and was waiting for the satisfying thunk, but was sorely disappointed when he leaned to one side at the last possible moment. The pen zipped by him, hit the wall behind, and clattered to her dining room floor. Draco's eyes glanced up from the book and the grin he gave her was flooring, almost so much so she nearly forgot her annoyance.

"With a little practice, you might be able to throw a Quaffle like a First Year."

Hermione flushed, crossed her arms, and snapped, "Right, sorry. I'll just Floo Adrian Pucey then for some pointers on fancying up that pointy face of yours. We might have to bring his latest conquest in the loop while I get up to speed. Best prepare your todger for that one--stupid git!”

Draco froze, stunned at the crack.

And then he laughed.

It wasn’t a snort, or a scoff, nor a chuckle, but an actual hearty, chest rumbling laugh full of belly rolling mirth.

"Have I told you yet today how much of a bitch you are?"

Hermione’s temper cooled at the sound of what could only be labelled his “guffaw.” She pursed her lips, fighting against her own laughter and set her sights back onto her magazine, flipping through the pages without looking.

“Not yet,” she said primly. “I believe you were too distracted with picking out drapes and throw pillows to match.”

Draco bit at the corner of his lip, snickering. "Granger?"

"Yes, _Malfoy?_ "

"You're a bitch."

"Duly noted."

She flipped through several more pages, resuming her earlier acts of circling and marking through items until her head shot up. A small gasp left her lips and she turned a stark look onto him, as though she’d just recalled something _very_ important.

"Malfoy!"

Draco blinked up at her.

"You're a ponce,” she said and returned to her circling once more.

His laughter filled her small flat and Hermione bit at her lip, restraining her own but allowing herself to settle into the comfort of familiarity.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The next few days passed in relative normalcy.

Hermione returned to her office on Monday, still investigating the same cursed bracelet she was working on a week ago, trying to give any leads possible to the Aurors and Draco salvaged the proposals destroyed in Ginny's angry appearance, passing additional ones along to their respective departments as usual.

On the house buying front, Hermione goggled at just how universal the languages of money and power were when you needed something done quickly.

Shortly after confirming they wanted to move on the house, Draco received a letter from the Muggle realtor through the Wizarding Protection department since he wasn't available to confirm the purchase of it via phone. After a few additional back and forth exchanges, Draco ordered and arranged the purchase and delivery of the new furniture they’d spent all day Sunday arguing over. He hadn't won the entire battle, but he at least got the rooms he cared about outfitted in new things.

His old bed from his flat would be going in one of the spare bedrooms and the same with hers in the second extra room. Her modest living room set would decorate the loft for a reading nook and he decided on putting what he could from his flat into the fourth bedroom for a study. Their master bedroom was to have entirely new furniture, as would the dining room. They’d even ordered patio furniture at Hermione’s insistence, and for reasons Draco couldn’t fathom, she wanted this bulky looking bench swing for the backyard. He'd given easily enough to the demand since it was the one that got him the richly colored set of curtains he wanted for the living room.

All in all, if you didn't count the intermittent yelling matches and thrown items throughout the day, it was a surprisingly civil exchange.

Now that the housing and furniture was settled, they had a wedding to prepare for. Sure, it was a court wedding, but they still needed to decide on a couple of details. Which was what led Draco to Hermione's office that day.

"Granger," Draco called from beyond her now open door, having unlocked the simple charm with barely a thought.

Hermione shrieked, the items she'd been so intensely working with scattering across her desk.

"MALFOY!" She clutched a hand to her breast to calm her racing heartbeat. Hermione had been concentrating on diligently picking apart a piece of the cursed bracelet still under examination in a court case and didn't hear him so rudely invite himself in. "You know, I'm fairly positive I shut that door. And locked it. And put up a 'do not disturb' sign."

He held up the little sign he'd plucked off the door which _did_ , in fact, reflect such a request and waved it at her. "This is important," he said.

She sputtered, "Important?! I was working on a previously cursed item in here, Malfoy! If I had been doing something delicate with a live artefact, you could have _killed_ me!"

Draco shrugged, moving the rest of the way into her office and shutting and locking the door behind him. He made himself comfortable by sitting on the edge of her desk, reaching out to fiddle with the dissected bracelet, bare handed.

"Don't get my hopes up, Granger, it's not nice." He held up the rather large diamond to the light, shifting it to and fro to look at the facets and examine the sides that looked like they were actually singed as a result of some kind of magic.

"First off, you would never have used such a feeble charm on your door if you were working on something so delicate. Second off, you wouldn't be working on it in your office. You would have been somewhere much more secure and guarded with several _actual_ security measures in place. So, obviously, this wasn't dangerous work, and, therefore, my matter maintains its status and takes precedence."

Hermione snatched the diamond back from him to set it back in the pile of metal links. "What. Do. You. Want?"

He smiled charmingly at her. "Our wedding, _darling._ We have yet to discuss it, and while the house was a rather important decision that, thankfully, resolved itself rather quickly...I dare say this is fairly important as well. So: our wedding."

Hermione shrugged, scooping the bracelet pieces back to the center of her cleared space, cleaning up the mess with a disproportionate amount of focus on the task.

"What's there to discuss? You say I do. I say I do. We get married, have...our evening together, and go about our merry way."

Draco watched her picking at the individual bits of the jewelry. She was so bloody awful at hiding her emotions.

"What are you wearing?"

Her head snapped up, a scowl in place already.

" ** _What?_ ** "

"For the wedding," he stressed as though it were obvious.

Hermione shrugged again. "I have a dress."

Draco's eyebrow lifted slowly, incredulously. "You have a wedding dress already?"

"I have a _dress,"_ she corrected. "This isn't a real wedding. There's no sense in getting all dolled up for it."

That part caused him some pause and he eyed her more critically. Her bitter tone was more tempered than before, but he could still pick it out.

"Granger." When she didn't stop her nervous fiddling, he stilled one of her hands. " _Granger._ "

"What?!" Hermione yanked her hand away from his touch. "It's _not_. We don't love each other. We're not doing this because we want to. There's no sense in making any larger a deal of this than necessary, Malfoy. Just leave it."

"I don't—"

"I **_said_ ** leave it!” She still hadn't looked back up to him. After taking a few deeper than normal breaths, she shook her head, hands still firmly set on her busy work. "...please."

Draco frowned. Deeply _._

There was that dejected tone again. It was something he was becoming more and more familiar with and he didn't much care for it. This wasn't the snappy spitfire he’d hounded for a decade and always had a hefty bucket of sarcasm to dump all over him. This woman...she was different.

"Well. Seeing as you're being resistant, I'll have to purchase an appropriate gown for you, myself."

"You _what?_ " Hermione's glare snapped up to find him looking a perfect balance of smug and nonplussed that only a Malfoy could manage.

"Yes...that seems the only solution. What are you around the arse then? About 100 centimetres?"

She choked at the number. "100?! Wha-?!"

"Hmm too _small_? Oh, you know, I'm rubbish at women's sizes. Really the only way to avoid an improperly fitted garment would be to go and get measured, don't you think?"

" _Malfoy,_ " Hermione growled.

"Granger?"

"I'm not buying a bloody dress."

"You're right, _I'm_ buying the bloody dress."

"MALFOY!"

"Granger!" Draco purred mockingly, reveling in the familiar glare she graced upon him. "Look," he leveled with her, "how long have we known each other?"

" _Too_ long,” Hermione snapped.

"How many times have I ever taken ‘no’ for an answer?"

"How many times have you ever _asked_ me to do anything?"

Draco shrugged. "The question's irrelevant since the answer to both is the same. So, as we both are aware, I'm used to getting what I want. It would really behoove the situation for you to just go here—“ He reached into his jacket pocket, producing an expensive looking wallet to flourish a small business card and place it in her hand. "—get yourself fitted and discuss your options. They'll make you as plain or as magnificent a garment as you desire, but I suggest you go soon, we've got little more than a week."

"Malfoy—"

" _Hermione—_ "

The sound of her name was still a shock. For the first time since he barged into her office, Hermione searched his face for some telltale sign as to what he was really up to. While his features hinted at nothing in specific, what she found there was the same stubbornly determined look she got whenever she set her mind to something. The begrudging realization Draco would make more than good on his word to harass her until she caved made her sigh.

"ALL RIGHT. Just answer me one question."

"And what's that?"

" _Why?_ "

Draco pursed his lips, eying her much as she'd eyed him, offering a cheeky smirk at last. "Tradition, of course."

Hermione watched him leave, sauntering in that way he always did when he left her office. She sighed down at the business card, flipping it over a few times in her hand, but found herself smiling regardless.

"...of course."

 

* * *

 

Ginny plopped down on her sofa, still in her practice gear. It was normally a house rule that sweaty pads and uniform weren't to touch the furniture, but Harry was called away on a sudden assignment so what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

She blew out a big breath, reclining with her arms stretched out on either side of her along the back of the couch. Her teammates had given her a hell of a workout today and she was sure she would be sore in the morning. Ginny longed for a good shower and a nice, long soak in the tub to unwind all her muscles and ease some of the bruises that would make their appearances in the morning and later that evening, but for the moment, all she had the energy to do was _sit._

She was having a nice sit, too. All the way until her moment of peace was interrupted by the bright flare of the fireplace igniting with a loud crackling pop. Yelping and shooting to her feet, Ginny stared hard at her fireplace wondering who would be calling in the middle of the day until a head materialized out of the flames.

It was one she sure as all get out never expected to appear in her hearth.

" _Malfoy?_ Ferret, is that you? What in Merlin's name are you doing calling me?"

Draco’s scoff had an edge of a sizzle to it when it transmitted through the fire. "Good to see you, too, Weaselette. I need to talk to you a moment. Privately." The disembodied head's eyes narrowed. "Is Potter around?"

Ginny quirked a brow at his older nickname for her but left it. "Uh, no. He's on assignment. Also, what makes you think I'd agree to a private conversation with you?"

"If he's not home, technically, you're already having one now. So why not cut out the middle man, or the Floo, as it were, and let me come over so I can get my head out of my fireplace?"

The woman shot him a look that she hoped he could see clearly enough. "You're _not_ coming over to my house, Malfoy."

"Why the bloody hell not? Hell, you already have access to _my_ home and I just bought it!”

"I don't trust you. You might do something... _suspect_."

" _Me_ do something—" The head sizzled and sputtered. "This coming from the bint that nearly disintegrated me in my own damned office?!"

Ginny grinned fondly. "Yeah that was a good day, wasn't it?" She shook her head again. "Not happening."

An exasperated sigh made a few embers snap out of the hearth. "It's about everyone's favorite little know-it-all, so unless you want me to talk all about it and chance someone overhearing—"

"Has something happened?" Just the nameless mention of Hermione sobered her disposition immediately.

"No, nothing... _yet_."

"Malfoy, you tell me what's going on or so help me I'll—"

"What? You'll _what?_ " Draco’s signature smirk broadcasted clearly through the fiery shape of his head. "You'll 'not invite me over' harder? I tell you what, love, I’m positively terrified.”

Ginny's expression soured, mulling over the consequences of opening access to the incorrigible man. Harry would've never allowed it, normally _she_ never would have even considered it...but if it were about Hermione...

"Alright, prick. Where are you calling from?"

"My office."

"Right, pull your fool head out and I'll give you access—but you better not try anything!"

Draco huffed at that, several tiny embers crackling at the sound. "Like what? Silence your house and try to _reducto_ you to death? That’s only for Fridays, I’m afraid. Also, my contract states ‘if not truly friendly, I must at least be cordial'...so I'll fake it for you."

Ginny rolled her eyes and grumbled as she went about setting up permissions on her end to open access to and from Draco's office to her living room, hoping that she wouldn't regret it. After several minutes of fandangling he finally appeared through a rush of emerald colored flames, dusting off his suit.

Ginny greeted him with folded arms and an openly hostile look. "Well?"

"Well what?" Draco tapped the toe of each foot to the stones as he exited to shake off the soot from the Potters’ fireplace and sneered. "Were you expecting a right hook to the jaw? It's not really my style to punch a woman but if you'd _really_ like me to return the favor..."

"Oh, shut it, ya git! What news did you have about Hermione?"

"We're getting married."

The witch blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. When he just blinked back at her with a raised eyebrow, her eyes narrowed. "Yes. I'm aware. And?"

"Yes... _and_ she needs a dress. I gave her the card to my seamstress' shop earlier today and I have no doubts that she will do everything in her power to _not_ go. I need you to make sure she actually does."

Ginny guffawed. " _That's_ your grand news? Your scheme? You want me to help you play dress up with my best friend?" She chortled and shook her head, one hand holding her stomach and the other waving about in the air as she turned, dismissing him. "Good _bye_ Malfoy."

Draco grabbed the woman's wrist without thinking, earning him an dark warning look. The single action drained any humor surrounding them like dousing a light and he released her just as quickly before holding both hands up in a placating gesture.

"If you don't want to make your best friend happy, fine. But nobody can say that I didn't try."

"What are you talking about?"

"You heard me."

"What about buying a dress is going to make _Hermione_ happy?"

Draco folded his arms and leaned against the mantle, looking at the redhead's questioning expression. She seemed genuinely clueless and the blank stare was somehow able to ruffle his feathers.

"Are you _all_ really that thick? I’m disappointed in you, Red."

Ginny was growing more irritated the more words continued dribbling out of his mouth. "Fuck off."

"I'm serious," he growled back. "Am I honestly the only one that has noticed how much this is affecting her?"

"How _dare_ you! Of course we notice!"

"Really? Alright then, have any of you so called friends of hers bothered to figure out why?"

"I should think it's obvious. She _is_ having to marry _you_ , after all."

Draco looked at her like she'd just said the sky was made of puffins. "Bloody hell...you all really _are_ that oblivious. No wonder she's so fucking miserable if her own friends don't get it."

Ginny's scowl for the wizard had morphed into one so intense it could only be outdone by the very witch who was the current topic of discussion.

"That's it. Get out of my house."

He ignored her.

"Clearly, she and I are both unhappy to have to wed, but if you'll recall, she was up in arms before we even knew all that."

"But you said you found out why she was so upset when you met with Kingsley—"

"I said I found out _one_ of the reasons she was so upset! Good to know you lot listen as well as you observe. Look at it this way, since when have you known Hermione-bleedin'-Granger to be so simple? She's as complex as that stone I put on her finger with too many shades and facets to count! What I learned was certainly reason enough for her to be livid—I can’t say I’m any more pleased about it—but there’s got to be more to it. Granger’s too solid to be so shaken, one valid reason or not.”

The observation caught Ginny flatfooted. She’d never thought Draco paid any attention to her friend beyond picking out the things that would get the furthest under her skin. The fact he apparently understood something about Hermione she didn't, rubbed her the wrong way.

Ginny huffed. "How am I supposed to understand all that if you don’t tell me what the hell it is you learned?"

"Maybe you could _ask_ her since _you’re_ actually her friend and not some sod contractually obligated to bone her!"

At the beet red shade of fury Ginny’s face turned, Draco held his hands out, palms forward, and forced himself calm, muttering a reminder to himself to be “cordial.”

"Red,” he began slowly, “when you married Potter, how did you feel?"

"What? Why—“

"Just answer the question!"

Ginny sneered but sat herself on the arm of her couch, arms crossed impatiently. "I felt...happy?"

"Just ‘happy’?"

"Fine, I was fucking _elated!_ I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"And why were you so _'elated'_?" He led her through the conversation slowly, expectantly.

Sighing, she actually thought about it for more than a few minutes to formulate her answer.

“It was something I'd wanted for a while, I guess. I was excited that we were finally getting married. I was excited that it was Harry. I was getting to live out my dream wedding." By the end of it, Ginny had taken on a wistful tone.

Draco grimaced at her soppy expression but pressed on. "Right. And what does Granger have with this one? With me?"

It took a few minutes, but realization dawned on the girl in stages and he watched them all, expression by expression, guessing at which points she was cycling through in her head.

He, himself, just from observing Hermione's declining mood and lackluster comebacks over the last week, had come to some conclusions on his own about the woman. If he were to venture a guess, particularly after the knowledge of her saving herself for marriage came out, there were aspects of this whole marriage thing that weren't being fulfilled for her own “dream wedding” aside from the obvious. He suspected at least some of them were at the root of her dispassionate moods and topic shirking.

"Shit. Fuck, why didn't I even think of this..." Ginny slid from the arm of the couch onto the cushions, deflating like a balloon.

Draco shrugged. "Sometimes the most obvious things need pointing out by someone the least emotionally invested. Don't feel too bad, Red, I _am_ also brilliant. There was a reason Granger didn’t get matched up with your brother, after all."

Ginny focused her attention back on him, too caught up by the keen insight about her friend to rise to the bait. She examined him and the way he leaned so casually against her mantel and narrowed her eyes. Cordial or not, it was too weird...and extremely suspicious.

"Why are you acting like you care about Hermione?"

Unsurprised and unperturbed by the question, he deflected, saying, "You think I'm really so cold hearted as to completely disregard the needs of my future wife?"

"Yes." At Draco's sigh and shrug, Ginny pressed further, her protective side surfacing more to push aside her embarrassment and growing shame at not being as in tune with Hermione’s needs as she should have. "You've been much more concerned about her than you're physically capable of--what gives?"

Draco sneered at the implication that he was truly concerned about _her_ , even if the thought of her shuffling about her office with that downtrodden slump to her shoulders made his own days awful. Who was he supposed to spar with if Hermione Granger was out of commission? It’s not as though he had a great deal of options of people that would speak to him, much less banter without trying to _actually_ kill him--as was evident by the very touch and go conversation he was engaging in in that very moment.

"You misunderstand me,” he said. “I'm just trying to get through this whole thing unscathed and I like to pick my battles. I don't need her taking out all of her bitterness on me for the rest of our lives when it's you happy lot that are to blame for the missed opportunity of her at least having a portion of fun with this debacle." He flashed her a smile full of perfectly straight, pearly white teeth and malice. "If I've at least done my part to make it easier on her up front, she can't really fault me, now can she? _Happy wife, happy life._ "

"You really are a useless snake!" Her expression darkened at his sing-song mockery.

"At least I don't pretend I'm her best friend and notice less about her problems than the man she hates."

Ginny was on her feet, snarling, the stiffness of her sore muscles entirely forgotten as a hot wash of shame filled her from head to toe alongside the urge to knock the man in front of her into next week.

 **"** ** _Out of my house, you smarmy prick!_ ** **"**

Draco gave her one more charming and perfectly _cordial_ smile before wiggling his fingers at her in a condescending wave and making for the hearth.

"Make sure she goes, Red.” He snatched a handful of Floo powder from the ornamental bowl on the mantel and paused to send her a final, more serious, borderline threatening look. “Or I’ll see you around."

And with a toss of the powder and a flare of green fire, Draco was gone.

 

* * *

 

"No. Absolutely not! I can't believe you're even coming to me with this!"

"Hermione, just listen a moment, will you?"

"NO! _Why_ are you even listening to anything that Malfoy of all people tells you? Since when did you two become all buddy-buddy?"

Hermione bustled about in her kitchen, fixing snacks for them to eat during movie night while Ginny watched on and did her best to not get underfoot by waiting for her on the other side of the breakfast bar. Propping her head on the heels of her hands, elbows braced on the counter, she peered at her friend.

"I'm not listening to him about anything. I just think...well I think he may actually be right about this. Even if you have to go through with this--even if it’s with _him_ \--there’s no reason you can’t enjoy some of it. Especially since it’s on Malfoy’s Knut." Ginny frowned. "Just never tell anyone I agreed with that idiot. Ever."

Hermione huffed. "Last time I checked, that would be considered listening. And I'll say it again, it's a waste of time, effort, and money – on all our parts! It's just a dress! I just want this to be over so I can go back to normal. I never wanted any of this. I don't want him. I don't want his money. I don't want his bloody dress! I don't want any of it!" She slammed down the bowl full of popcorn so hard that several popped kernels went flying back into her face.

"Hermione,” Ginny said, reaching across the counter to still Hermione’s trembling hands. “If it really is just a dress, why are you so upset?"

Hermione didn't want to look up. She didn't want to see what she knew would be waiting for her on Ginny’s face. Pity. Sympathy. Sadness. She was doing the best she could to just carry on despite how diligently life wanted to go the opposite way, but there were so many reminders manifesting themselves on their own without Ginny’s or anyone else’s added pity. She didn't need to keep seeing it. She just wanted to get on with her bloody life!

When Hermione went quiet but didn’t pull her hand free from her touch, Ginny took a chance to push a little more. "You know...it's not too late to get them and bring them back,” she said it so softly as if she were afraid speaking any louder would cause the whole apartment building to explode.

“Gin…” Hermione warned but didn’t look up from where her vision had fixed on an imaginary blemish on her counter.

It’d taken several hours after Draco’s visit to get her head realigned with how Hermione must be feeling, but once it all clicked, Ginny had been mortified that she didn't immediately think about Hermione’s parents. She knew about what the other witch had done during the war, they all did, but Hermione never talked about it much now--or _ever_. It was easy to forget, especially when one had their own parents only a hop, skip, and Floo away to visit at their leisure. The fact she failed on so many fronts in understanding Hermione’s misery was, frankly, appalling. And it made her hate Draco all the more for seeing something she couldn’t.

Ginny squeezed Hermione’s hand, thumb rubbing across her knuckles in as soothing a way as possible. “There's plenty of time before the deadline. And even if there wasn’t, I'm sure you could file for an extension--"

 _“Ginny, please!”_ Hermione snapped, finally snatching her hand away.

Hurt and anger flashed across Hermione’s face for the barest of moments before she let out a heavy, exasperated sigh and scrubbed her hands over her eyes. Once she was done, she turned an exhausted expression towards the other witch, the pity on Ginny's face broadcasted loud and clear. Just as she expected.

“Not tonight. Can we just watch the movie?"

Ginny tamped down on her frown and instead gave what she hoped was a supportive nod. “Yeah, of course.”

There was an awkward strain between them as Ginny crossed the forbidden threshold of the kitchen to help Hermione move their snacks and beverages into the living room until they both plopped down in front of the TV. Despite having a father obsessed with Muggle technology, she didn’t care all that much for it.

Except the telly.

Muggle TVs were Ginny’s favorite Muggle contraption by far out of all the ones she’d ever laid her eyes on and her enjoyment and amusement over it was fresh and new every time. The look of excitement at messing with something she likely should have been over by then was enough to release the tension in the air.

The pair of them settled comfortably into the cushion nest Ginny readied beforehand while Hermione started the movie: some romance about a wedding singer that gets dumped at the altar and falls in love with a waitress he meets at his job. It was an easy going kind of movie night and Hermione wanted to spend it floating around in someone else's happily ever after and forgetting about everything else. They both eased into their cushions and let the sounds of the TV and the crunching of popcorn take them away.

The movie was reaching the first inkling of its plot when Hermione felt as if there was a weight that kept pressing on her periodically, as though she were being watched. When she made to look around, she saw Ginny’s eyes flick hastily towards the screen from where they’d just been staring at her and things went from their comfortable familiarity back to strained and awkward.

The next time she felt Ginny’s unsubtle gaze shift onto her, Hermione tossed up her arms and huffed. “Well are you going to _say_ something or just keep looking at me and pretending like I can’t see it every bloody time?”

"Sorry," Ginny said, having the courtesy to be embarrassed. "I just...I really do think he's right about this one. As much as I hate to admit it, I do. I think you deserve this, Hermione. If you can't have anything else, why not _this_? And, besides, Malfoy's loaded! I mean if there's any perk to being shacked up with him, at least there's that."

"Just because he's 'loaded', Gin, doesn't mean that I should take advantage of it! I don't _want_ to take advantage of it! As it is, he made me agree to him paying for practically everything once we're married. Just like this damned law, it's such an archaic way of thinking. It's disgusting!"

“It absolutely _is_ disgusting--but _everything_ , though? As in _everything_ everything? Like the house and the dress and a new blouse for every day of every year if you wanted?”

Hermione narrowed her eyes and took a handful of popcorn to chew on, ignoring her friend’s sad attempt at levity.

Sighing, Ginny took her own handful and spoke around a mouthful of partially chewed buttery mess. "After all he's done to you in the past, it's really the least he can do, Hermione. He owes you."

The way Ginny spoke about Draco made Hermione want to sneer--she barely stopped herself, in fact. That way of thinking was precisely why they were all in the predicament they were in at present. Granted, some things were harder to move on from than others -- and with good reason -- but how would any of them move forward if they just kept clinging to old ways and old hate?

"He was just a boy,” Hermione said. “We were all just kids fighting someone else’s war. Draco doesn't owe me anything."

Ginny nearly choked on her snack at the sound of the man’s name being uttered without the level of hostility she’d grown accustomed to hearing attached to it. After clearing the clog from her throat with a sip of her water, she said, "You're the only one that thinks that way, you know."

"Hence the problem," Hermione mumbled.

"How's that?"

"Nothing."

Hermione went back to filling her mouth with popcorn before saying anything else particularly controversial. It garnered her a narrow eyed look from her friend but Ginny seemed prepared to let it drop.

Or at least she’d thought so.

"I still think you should go,” said Ginny.

Hermione rolled her eyes for the billionth time that evening and was certain they were near to popping straight out of their sockets.

“If nothing else, how many opportunities in your life do you really have to go and get your wedding dress made from scratch without cost being a factor? You can choose whatever fabric, whatever style... Oh! You can have all kinds of tiny ornaments added to the bodice! Get a matching veil and--"

Hermione tossed her arms up. " ** _OKAY!_  ** Fuck's sake, I'll go! But you're coming with me so for every minute – every _second_ – of misery I have to suffer through during the fitting for this fool thing, you'll be there to hear me bitch and moan and whine about it firsthand!”

Ginny beamed at that.

"Thought you'd never ask!"


	10. Chapter 10

"You didn't tell me that his 'seamstress' is _Endora Roux_." Ginny stared at the shop front in awe, suddenly feeling far too underdressed.

Hermione looked at the signage with the same amount of disinterest she possessed since the whole idea of a dress fitting was thrust upon her. "Should I know who that is?"

The redheaded witch stopped her friend when she started forward, turning her back around by the shoulders.

" _Hermione!_ Endora Roux is one of wizarding Britain's highest profile designers! She's made some of the finest and most beautiful wedding gowns in _existence!_ She's not just a ‘seamstress’, Malfoy gets his clothes made by a celebrity!"

Hermione blanched, looking at the deceptively simple entryway. The exterior of the building was just a smooth black marble surface with mirrored glass double doors and the name of shop – _la roux –_ hanging above them in the center in an elegant lowercase script. She knew anyone Malfoy patronized for all the obnoxiously stunning suits he wore would be expensive, she just never realized _how_ expensive.

Frowning, Hermione grumbled, "Now I _really_ don't want to go in..."

Ginny's eyes lit up and she faced her friend back to the doors. "Nuh uh, no way! Now we _have_ to! You're going to have a one-of-a-kind dress made by ENDORA ROUX!"

Hermione eyed the other witch where she was practically bouncing out of her skin with excitement. Her lip curled ever so slightly.

"Wonderful..." Stripped of all further say in the matter, Ginny shoved her forward through the doors and into the too decadent reception area.

The reception desk was huge and expensive looking, just like everything else in the place. It appeared to be made of the same black marble as the exterior of the building and sat on cool gray tile. To either side of the entry doors were small waterfalls built into the walls, offering a soothing trickle of water to all that entered. Decorative potted plants lined the foyer and from what Hermione could see on either side of the desk, the shop stretched back, well beyond a dark dividing wall with several fashionably posed mannequins she caught a glimpse of. Each of them were so extraordinarily clothed, if she had to guess, she would bet one frock would’ve cost more than the value of her entire wardrobe.

"Names?" a clipped voice piped up from directly in front of where the two witches stood goggling.

Hermione's eyes snapped to the large reception desk, finally noticing the very well dressed woman behind it. With the way she looked both her and Ginny over, one word floated to the front of her mind: _bitch_.

"Uh...Hermione Granger."

The woman’s eyes darted to Ginny next. She pointed back to Hermione and said, “I'm with her.”

The receptionist scanned over a ledger in front of her, one finely manicured finger dancing across what had to have been dozens of names, not bothering to entertain them with small talk while she searched the list. The air between them grew tense. Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the creak of her shoes sounding too loud in the quiet space.

"You're not on the list,” the woman said at last. “Did you have an appointment?"

Frowning more at the tone in the girl's words than the question itself, Hermione said, "No. I wasn't aware I needed to make one."

 _'Fucking Malfoy..._ '

The girl scoffed prettily.

Hermione ventured a guess this woman did _everything_ prettily.

"You can't just walk into **_la roux_ ** without an appointment,” she said. “This isn't some side shop where you can comb rack to rack. Perhaps you should check where you're actually supposed to be next time."

A growl slipped from Ginny’s lips before she could help herself and she was moving forward.

"Look here you little--"

"Gin! Forget it. Let's go. Malfoy never mentioned anything about an appointment,” Hermione mumbled to her friend and did her best to turn Ginny towards the exit despite how much the redhead was urging herself forward with deadly intent.

" _Malfoy? Did I hear someone say Malfoy, Fiona?"_

The girl at the desk shot up stock straight at the voice filtering in from somewhere behind the divider wall. Her answer came quickly and was utterly devoid of the previous attitude it held before.

"Yes, Madame. This woman here. It was her."

To Hermione, her words sounded suspiciously like some kind of accusation, very much a ‘tossing one under the bus’ sort of thing. She narrowed her eyes accordingly.

Following the receptionist’s reply, there was a bit of shuffling from beyond the wall before an older woman about Hermione's height appeared from the back end of the shop. She emerged wearing a loose, yet mystically not baggy, deep burgundy tunic, sleek black capris, and plain black ballet flats. Her hair was wound up in a high, tight bun and while it was mostly gray, it had streaks of fading red and auburn throughout.

Everything about the woman’s image screamed “comfortable” but she was no less tailored to perfection than everything else visible in the shop.

Hermione had never known comfortable could _be_ so stunning.

"Hermione Granger?" The woman smiled warmly, one hand extending out, urging the girl forward.

Ginny's anger sputtered out at the sight of the small, older lady, instantly knowing her for who she was.

 _“Endora Roux,”_ Ginny breathed, starstruck. But, when Hermione didn't answer Endora Roux’s call right away, she shoved the witch forward, pulling an automatic response from her sudden stumbling.

"Yes!” Hermione blurted, then blushed, moving and reaching to take the woman’s proffered hand. “Sorry-- _yes_. I'm Hermione Granger."

"Oh! Such a pleasure to meet you, young lady! I've been waiting for you."

"B-but Madame, her name wasn't on the list."

" _Hush_ child," Endora's voice snapped, going from warm and welcoming, to stern and cold instantly when she addressed Fiona. "Have you been living under a rock for your entire life, girl? Have you no idea who this is?"

Fiona's eyes grew to huge proportions and her complexion paled noticeably. She looked back to Hermione again who was clad in a simple flouncy blouse, Muggle jeans, and cross trainers; she had absolutely no clue who Hermione was.

Endora released Hermione’s hand after shaking it lightly and placed a hand between her shoulder blades to guide her back towards her studio.

"Why am I not surprised? They don't teach anything important in schools anymore,” Endora said with no shortage of exasperation in her tone and sent a hard sidelong look to Fiona who was trying to remain still but failing. "Perhaps you should read the paper, dear. Miss Granger played a pivotal part in securing our freedom in the last war. She's only almost constantly at the head of a huge story every day with her developments on cursebreaking. You know, only the brains behind _Harry Potter's_ victory over You-Know-Who as proclaimed by Mister Potter himself?"

Fiona's skin grew impossibly paler, eyes now taking up most of her face as the names all clicked together. Her mouth was moving, maybe in way of apology or anything really, but nothing came out save for a squeak.

Hermione looked as though she wanted to die on the spot from that sort of branding but Ginny was beaming and mouthing smug things at the receptionist over her shoulder where Hermione couldn’t see.

"She's also Draco Malfoy's fiancée," Endora added offhandedly as though the detail were a pittance more to add to the pot. Judging by the way Fiona looked as though she were about to faint, it certainly wasn’t.

"Hmm...you don't look well, Fiona. Perhaps you should take the rest of the day off. Go ahead and go home and lock up the front if you would? I won't be seeing my other appointments today."

Fiona eventually came back to herself, sputtering and nodding as it was all she could manage. "Y-yes, Madame."

Once the receptionist was finally gone, having done well by not just running from the building in light of her blatant misstep, Endora smiled that warm smile once again to both Ginny and Hermione.

"Sorry about that,” Endora said. “She's my niece. Family obligations you know. She's not really the brightest bauble in the bunch."

Hermione nodded and fiddled with the lace edging of her flouncy sleeves, wondering if it was too late to back out of this whole thing.

For her part, Ginny buzzed with excitement about ready to explode at the fact that _Endora Roux_ knew who her best friend was.

"Oh! My apologies. What was your name, dear?"

"Ginny--ah! I mean _Ginevra!_ Ginevra Potter. Merlin, it's such an honor to meet you Madame Roux--I’ve been a fan of your gowns for ages!"

"Potter? _Oh!_ Mrs. Potter!" Endora reached out to took Ginny's hand, shaking hers excitedly, motioning her further towards the studio just as she had with Hermione. "I'm so sorry! I didn't recognize you out of uniform. I have a box at the home stadium for the Holyhead Harpies! Sorry, so sorry--oh my goodness, I can't believe I didn't place you immediately. You'll have to excuse me, the mind is the first to go, you know."

The older witch grinned brightly and made her way back beyond the divider wall, urging them both to follow.

"Come on girls. Let's talk about dresses!"

Endora and Hermione -- the latter looking as though she were walking the length of Death Row -- made their way to the back while Ginny stood, rooted and stunned. Her mouth gaped and she blinked, eyes huge and dazzled.

"Merlin's beard...Endora Roux knows who I am..."

 

* * *

 

"Madame Roux--"

" _Endora_ , please, call me Endora."

Hermione blushed from the other side of her teacup, her experience at this fitting _nothing_ like she’d imagined it would be.

" _Endora_...I gather that the shop is named after you, obviously."

Endora nodded.

"But is there a reason why everything seems to just be black and gray and... _steel_ for the decorations? There's not one thing here that's red aside from some of the clothing. Well...and this couch."

Endora grinned and nodded again.

"Yes...the marketing team seemed to think that 'red' wasn't classy enough. The black and gray or black and white was all the rage at the time so we went with that and it kind of stuck. I guess it's a fair enough assessment, though." She tugged at one of the few remaining clusters of red in her hair. "I've never been a very classy woman."

Ginny snorted, motioning to her own hair with a bright smile. "That makes two of us!"

The woman cackled, slapping a knee and setting her tea back onto the nearby coffee table.

"As pleasant as it has been chatting with you girls, I believe you came here for a reason, yes? Draco sent me an owl asking if I would be able to provide you with a unique wedding dress for your upcoming union! Of course I jumped at the chance – I've been clothing the Malfoys for the longest while."

Hermione's smile lessened, still stuck on something from the near altercation at the front of the shop. "Endora...when you were talking to your niece--"

"Fiona? Yes, dear, what of her?"

"You mentioned... _us_...Harry, Ron, and I... being responsible for your freedom. It really – excuse me if this is inappropriate – but it struck me as odd. What did you mean? Volde-" Hermione paused when she saw the older woman flinch. " _You-Know-Who_ only really had it out for my kind...Muggle-borns and Muggles..."

The witch nodded and reached forward to pat her arm, trying to soothe some of the discomfort from the young woman. "I'm Muggle-born, dear, much like yourself. Fiona is a Half-blood and, while they weren't in as great danger as ones like you and I during the last couple of wars, it was no picnic."

While Hermione’s surprise didn’t manifest too boldly on her face, Ginny’s did.

"You're not a Pureblood?" she asked the question and had the decency to look embarrassed afterward. "S-sorry! I didn't mean that to sound like that. It's just...for someone creating clothing for the Malfoys especially..."

Endora reclined once again on her spot on the sofa, if she'd been offended it didn't show.

"It's not a widely known fact, honestly. Marketing thought it would be an ‘ _unfortunate’_ thing to broadcast if the goal was to thrive in the world of fashion. The very old, very traditional families have the deepest vaults." A grimace dampened her expression as soon as the words left her.

"How nice. Hiding it, as though it’s some sort of a _disease_ ," Hermione spat it out before she could stop herself. She looked bashful for merely a second before shaking it off.

Hermione was nothing but proud of her heritage and would never have let anyone in advertising tell her to hide it!

"Yes...well at the time, it may as well have been. The magical world wasn't nearly as liberal as it is now, Miss Granger. Like you, I went to school with my Pureblooded and Half-blooded peers, but back then, there weren't nearly as many laws and rules and regulations in place to protect Muggle-born witches or wizards like there are today. My family was fairly poor as well, you see, so even in the least favored group in attendance, I was at the bottom of the barrel. My parents were tradespeople. They did what they could to pay for it all." Endora smiled wistfully, thinking back to sometime long, long ago.

Hermione felt bad then, not even having bothered to think about it like that. It was hard enough to maintain equality in her day and age, she could only imagine the predicament several decades ago. "I'm sorry...that was out of line."

"Don't be!” Endora shook her head and reached to pat Hermione on the knee. “I’m not ashamed of what I am Miss Granger, I never have been. While I agreed to not announce my heritage as an opener to my clients, never once have I hidden it. My parents taught me everything I know in this trade and I let that speak for itself. The people are usually far too busy prancing around in their fancy clothes to worry about what _kind_ of blood was in the 'blood, sweat, and tears' bit that created it." She flashed both girls a wicked smile. "Although it is very satisfying to see the most stalwart of purists proudly flashing around the expensive label of a Muggle-born seamstress, I tell you what."

Ginny laughed a hearty deep-bellied laugh that lasted for minutes, almost inappropriately so, even having to wipe the remnants of tears from the corners of her eyes thinking about that picture.

She leaned in conspiratorially, nudging both herself and Hermione closer to Endora, "So... you’ve been sewing for the Malfoys a while you said. Do _they_ know?"

"Oh yes. They are quite aware. Lucius especially. I think he threatened to 'fire me' as the family's seamstress and designer once but I'm almost positive that ended with an earful from Narcissa. She wasn't willing to give up her dresses she loves to order for her socials and events so he just avoids the subject as much as possible."

The witch crooked her finger and beckoned the young witches even closer, lowering her voice to a mock whisper and looking around her shop with a mischievous gleam in her eye.

"Whenever I know he's coming over, I set out my family pictures of my mum and dad and make sure there's always at least _one_ in sight at any given time for wherever I need to do his fittings."

The trio of witches had a good cackle over that.

Hermione was kept chuckling at the memory of the way the eldest Malfoy's jaw would tighten and he would sputter when someone would contradict him in front of others or generally do anything that would make him look a fool. To think of him at a fitting with this spry Muggle-born witch purposefully egging him on--it was delightful.

That was, until Hermione realized that, _that_ particular git was soon to be her father-in-law and the mirth drained right out of her.

"What about Malfoy?” she asked out of the blue then thought to specify, “I-I mean, _Draco_. He knows as well?"

"Oh yes," Endora said but when the girl stiffened at the topic, she added with deliberate kindness, "He's never been anything but a polite young man, though."

Hermione looked at her as if Endora’s hair had all turned red once again before igniting.

"Draco,” she repeated the name more clearly. “ _Draco Malfoy_ knows that you're Muggle-born and he's been _polite_ about it?"

Patting Hermione's knee again with a wink, Endora said, "Yes, child. He's very charming, actually. You've gotten yourself quite a wizard!"

"Draco _Lucius_ Malfoy?” This time the repeat of his name came from Ginny. “The tosser we went to school with?"

" _Yes!_ " Endora snorted a laugh, pushing to her feet and stretching a bit, readying herself to get to work.

"No offense intended, Endora,” Hermione began carefully, “but why would Draco be polite to you? What with his upbringing and all..." Grumbling below her breath, more to herself than anyone else, she said, "He's never been anything but a little rat's arse to me..."

Endora shook her head and shuffled around, collecting her measuring tape and parchment as well as a few other things.

"Because I make his mother happy, of course. He's nothing if not a momma's boy, that one."

Ginny snickered at that, but they dissolved into a few snorts at the sharp elbowing from Hermione.

Unfurling her measuring tape, Endora tugged Hermione's teacup from her hands and set it on the nearby table. Coaxing her onto her feet, she led Hermione to a small velvet covered box sitting in front of a wall of angled mirrors and nudged her to stand on it. With Hermione’s soft, discomfited noises for background music, Endora poked and prodded her into proper positions, humming to herself as she started on taking her measurements. A floating pad of paper and quill came into view, the latter taking to fervent scribbling whenever she called out a new number.

"I suppose he's a bit traditional in that sense," Endora said as an afterthought.

In all the tilting and turning and measuring, Hermione caught the sparkle of her ring in one of the mirrors. Looking down to see the sunlight filtering in from the shop's few windows where it caught her alexandrite stone, Hermione watched the deepening of its color into a gorgeous, smooth emerald shade.

She sighed.

"Yeah...he is that."

 

* * *

Another day and another lunch hour saw Draco swaggering up to Hermione’s office door.

This time, instead of a large ‘do not disturb’ sign, it read ‘out to lunch’. Huffing at it, he peered past the paper where it was stuck to the door and caught sight of the occasional movement of a blurry blob beyond the privacy glass. Shaking his head, he waved his wand over the knob to unlock her door. When he tried to open it, he found it still tightly locked and shut.

Draco smirked at her redoubled security.

As he was hovering, a click sounded from the other side of the door and Hermione’s voice called out to him.

"Come in, Malfoy."

Trying the handle again, he found it turned and opened smoothly--as smoothly as her rickety setup could, in any case. Draco presented her with a brilliant, if not condescending, smirk as he moved through her doorway.

"Why Granger, how ever did you know it was me?"

"There's only one blond headed git that tries to unlock my door when there’s signage up clearly indicating I wish to be left alone. Call it an educated guess," she mocked him with the similar statement of his from days ago.

Chuckling, he closed the door behind him and settled into one of the chairs facing her desk. Just as the sign suggested, she'd been eating her lunch – some kind of pitiful looking homemade sandwich from what he could tell – and was reading one of the many books about cursed spellwork he’d seen on her shelf. Apparently, she was still researching information on the bracelet the Aurors found, even on her _break_ ; he wondered if the woman ever shut off.

"A little bird told me – quite literally, via letter – that you went to visit Endora the other day. Did she get you all settled?"

Hermione eyed Draco, expecting to see him smirking over at her in that superior way he always would when he successfully bothered her but was surprised to see his guarded interest awaiting her instead. She finished chewing her latest bite, marked her place in her book, and set it aside.

"I did and, unfortunately, she did."

Draco's smirk did appear then at the news.

"Good. I take it you took the Potterette with you? The charges to my account were a bit exorbitant for just one dress, even if it _was_ a designer wedding gown."

"I did." She leaned back in her ratty office chair, swiveling and providing him with a smug look of her own. "Endora insisted that she fit Ginny as well. Turns out she's quite a big Quidditch fan. She was going to do the dress for her at cost, but I told her I wouldn't hear of it and that my _husband-to-be_ would be oh so very happy to provide my Maid of Honor with a gown as well at her normal rates."

Instead of following her statement with the lead in to one of their usual rows, Draco laughed and, for the second time that day, he surprised her. There was something infuriating in the fact that charging some fifteen thousand Galleons to his account without his consent didn’t cause him to bat an eye. By the end of her attempted jab and his entirely inappropriate reaction, Hermione discovered she was, again, more put out by the whole process than anyone else involved--this fact _very_ visible on her scowling, grimacing face.

"So, she's your Maid of Honor now? What happened to the court wedding?" Draco asked, pulling the witch out of the internal play of thoughts producing her amusing expression of someone whose killer punchline fell flat.

In truth, he would've been livid had he not authorized the charges to go through himself. Endora sent him notice the “dresses” -- plural -- were started and when he made to investigate, he confirmed the purchases for her service and materials. Seeing as Ginny came through on her assigned task, he saw no need to deny her a reward for her services.

"It was just something to say." Hermione shrugged and continued her idle swiveling with a little frown.

And, before he could stop himself, a damning question came pouring out.

"Would you like a real wedding?" Draco stiffened, resisting sending a glare towards his own traitorous lips.

Hermione stopped mid-swivel. "What?"

He swallowed, chastising his idiot tongue.

_‘Well...in for a Knut, in for a Sickle...’_

"You heard me,” he said with confidence, as though he’d meant to ask the question in the first place. “Did you want an actual wedding?"

Draco's head tilted to one side in his usual posturing, though he trod carefully and kept his normal mocking tones out of the question. After his conversation with Ginny, he'd thought about it more and more. He blamed her for his accidental blurting. Her and his curiosity about what other things could be getting so deeply beneath the witch’s skin aside from the obvious.

"No," her answer was quick. Too quick. "No, of course not."

His head tilted the other direction now, look morphing into disbelief.

"Granger, I've been honest with you--"

"Yes, honesty was precisely how you didn't tell me your seamstress wasn't a _seamstress_ but one of the most sought out designers in wizarding Britain." Hermione bristled at nearly being made to look like a fool. She was sure she would've been if Ginny hadn't had been there with her.

He shrugged.

"She's _also_ a  seamstress. She sews, so she's a seamstress. Not a lie."

Hermione made a disgusted noise low in her throat and went back to his original question.

"I don't need a real wedding,” she said, more a snap of teeth than an answer.

"You don't _need_ one, no,” he said, nonplussed. “Do you _want_ one? If you do, you need to tell me now. We’ve less than a week left to arrange it all and money can accomplish many things but I've a feeling even Shacklebolt can't be bought off for any more time."

"No, Malfoy, we just need to go in, say our vows, and get it done. We don't need to worry about a ceremony, and gowns, and flowers--"

"Don't lie to me, Granger." Draco's voice was a cold, sudden snap, halting her words with ones she’d uttered herself at the start of this mess.

Hermione saw him glaring at her from across the desk and he looked the most offended she could ever recall. There was no sneer and no scowling, just hard, gray eyes boring into her own. His gaze didn't falter, either. It didn't flicker, only stared continuously at her face, holding an indignant air to it. The strangest thing about it, was that he wasn't mocking her in any way for her continued resistance, but genuinely seemed displeased that she was playing down the event so.

"What do you want me to say?" Hermione diverted lamely, earning her a darker look. She huffed and folded her arms.

"It's not about what I want, this is about you. You only get one of these and I _know_ you don't just want to walk up to the official, say 'I do', go home, get shagged, and forget about it all."

Draco's firm and honest reply shook her. Hermione thought she was much better at hiding her thoughts and feelings than that but there he was, reading her like an open book. It left her feeling pitiful and bitter. A protest was forming on her tongue, hovering on the tip, but she could only think of how he glared at her so–glaring because she kept trying to spout lies to the only unfortunate individual who actually bothered to try to be honest with her.

Hermione sighed, deflated.

“No, of course I don't. But this isn’t something for you to worry about--you _shouldn’t_ worry about it."

Hermione slumped back in her chair and focused on a paint chipped spot in the center of her desk as she picked and crumbled the crust of her sandwich. So intent on the task, she didn't notice when Draco moved around the desk to stand in the small space between her and it. She only stopped the nervous ministrations when his hand covered hers and made her drop the rest of the crumbs. Her frown was instant, her mouth opening to grouse at him but he spoke first.

"We're not friends."

Draco moved her hand back into her own lap and took up a seat on her desk facing her, arms folded and looking down at her critically.

"We're not lovers. We're barely coworkers managing to exist in the same space for any amount of time without fighting, but you _are_ going to be my wife. There's nothing either of us can do about it now. You and I have both done far too many things we've _had_ to do because of the people who've felt it was their duty to control us. Friends, family--"

He thought about Hermione’s brief public relationship with Ron Weasley, who he considered a complete and total idiot for more reasons than one, and sneered.

"-- _other_. This is your chance to do something you actually want to do in the midst of all this public duty bullshite. I know I'm not your first choice of partners--believe me, I understand. It’s not as though I look at you and see sunshine and roses either, but this is your last and only chance I'm offering, Granger. I’m not another face in the crowd forcing you to do something ‘for your own good’ – I don't bloody _care_ about your own good – I'm just not fucking blind and ignorant like the rest of your stupid friends and I've got the bollocks to say something about it so you stop being such a fucking killjoy. So, I’ll ask once more: do you want a real wedding?"

Hermione gaped in the aftermath of his words.

It was so seldom Draco would be this serious about anything, serious to the point where so much less of his sarcastic tint colored any of his speech. She'd only seen it a handful of times in their working career, in fact, and it was always a shock.

Exhaling slowly, she frowned up at him. She hated herself for the vulnerability she knew was creeping to the surface no matter how hard she tried to shove it back down. Hermione had wanted this for as long as she could remember--ever since she was a little girl. The fact it was going to happen so suddenly without her parents to see, to be there--she was torn between still having the ceremony or just letting the idea of it all go.

She truly wanted it – _so badly_ – especially if it was just to happen the once, but there was so much that wouldn't be right even if they went through with a real wedding.

"Yes...Malfoy, I do...but it really isn’t your problem.”

Draco chuckled without humor and shook his head. “If we weren’t going to be stuck together for the rest of our lives, I’d agree with you but, as it is, you’re wrong. My fiancee _is_ my problem.”

She blushed, fidgeting in her seat at both his tone and the use of the label. Hermione should have known with someone as stringent about tradition as Draco that he would be hard pressed to leave it alone.

“Please don't make it a big deal. There are..." She swallowed, pushing the details into a compartment in her mind where she kept tucking things away for later; always later. "...there are some things we just can't have, no matter how much we want them. I don’t want you to pay for any kind of expensive ceremony, anyway. I just want to get what we need to get done, _done--_ as low profile as possible, then call it a night."

Her whole speech sounded completely unconvincing, even to her.

"Low profile? Us?” Draco shook his head again. “Between your activist groups and my name being what it is? You really think that's even possible?"

Hermione acknowledged him with a shake of her own head and swiveled her seat towards her janky office window, resisting as best she could the urge to fiddle with her engagement band. Silence, more comfortable than any that ever seemed to exist when either of them were paired off with anyone else, filled the small space of Hermione’s office.

Draco used the time to examine her profile, watching as her eyes slipped between watching the colors of her stone shift to focusing on idle happenings beyond her window down on the streets. He looked then to his own hands, willing away the tightness in his chest at the sullen way she’d spoken about their pending union and the court appointment she insisted they make.

If left to him only, Draco wouldn’t care, though he knew his mother would prefer something more formal to fawn over, regardless of which witch he was assigned. Ultimately, though, he’d always been expecting the position of managing wedding details to be assigned to his bride-to-be and, in that, assumed it would be a “talk of the block” sort. There were no witches he’d encountered growing up that’d ever imagined themselves on his arm without blathering about all of the family Galleons they were planning to dump into flower arrangements and food and all that rot. The fact his _actual_ fiancee was so willing to let what he could plainly see were deeply rooted desires of some fantastical dream slip past her for whatever other reasons aside from him...it rubbed him the wrong way entirely.

Draco stared at that dismal, distant gaze she cast towards the streets, watching it fuzz in and out of the present for a little longer before his body and mouth betrayed him again. He pushed off from her desk and turned her chair back to face him. Hermione’s wide, shocked eyes refocused on his face where it was unexpectedly close as he bent forward, bracing himself with his hands on the arms of her chair. Her mouth popped open to say something but he beat her to it and she could smell spearmint on his breath with how close he was.

"Make your guest list and name your wedding party,” Draco said softly but seriously, catching her stare and never letting it dip or wander as he spoke. “Give me the names of the flowers and colors you want for the theme. Options for a venue will be limited with such short notice, but I'm sure we can find something reasonable. I’ll also need to know if you'll want a proper reception and what you want for that as well. I'll need them as soon as possible. Tomorrow would be optimal."

Hermione blinked at him as though he’d just spoken in tongues. "But I told you--"

"You told me you wanted a real wedding." He shrugged nonchalantly. "And it so happens I do as well. I'm sure you won't begrudge me a ceremony. Unless you're planning on being a real bitch about it, then that really can't be helped, I suppose."

The look he gave her at his last words took her so off guard she just stared, slack-jawed.

When Hermione didn't respond, he took her lack of protest as agreement and made to leave. Shaking herself out of her stupor, Hermione rushed after him, catching him by a sleeve. She expected his sneer at the contact but was greeted with a rather even tempered, yet questioning look.

"Don't do this because of me." Hermione searched his features for signs of trickery, mockery, or Merlin help her, pity--the one emotion she'd never seen directed towards her from him. She found none of them.

It was both a relief and confusing as hell.

Draco plucked her hand from his suit and he realized how small she actually was next to him, having never truly taken the time to notice before. The thought that her petite stature was defiantly disproportionate to her presence when she walked into a room flitted through his head and he shook it to dislodge the errant observation. His grip had lingered longer than necessary, caught on that thought and he jerked his hand away, releasing her dainty wrist with the traces of her body heat still burning his fingertips. He flashed her a charming smile, big and broad and over the top, covering for how he startled himself so.

“Tell me no,” Draco said, voice as smooth as silk.

Hermione's mouth opened, but no sound came out.

The word wouldn't form.

So stunned in the face of Draco being so strange and considerate and... _nice_ , her body refused to let her voice the protest.

Looking up at him there in the small confines of her office, she was less surprised by his height than the last time they were so close. Without the added audience of a snooty Muggle realtor watching their every move, she allowed herself the moment to inspect his expression. Draco’s smile lightened the weight he carried on his shoulders as well as the things she would see lurking in his eyes when his walls thinned and his patience around her would grow short.

She was certain now, it _did_ suit him. Much better than the sneer.

"You've been uncharacteristically accommodating of my needs and wants,” Hermione said instead of a refusal. “I think you're up to something."

Draco grinned, a mischievous light igniting the gray in his eyes like lightning flashing behind the cover of clouds.

"Why Granger, what would make you suspect such a thing? Is it a crime to try to make my bride happy?"

She ignored the question, countering with one of her own. "If I told you no, would you listen?"

His head tilted to one side as he thought on it, then replied with an honest humor tinting his words. "I would listen with the same frequency in which I always listen to you."

"So not at all," she said.

“Not at all,” he agreed.

Hermione couldn't help her smirk however much she tried.

"Dare I ask what's made you suddenly want a ceremony, Malfoy?"

"Well…I should think it would be obvious." His gaze scanned over her face, finding her spreading grin and the quirk of her dark brow enjoyable despite himself.

"Let me guess...tradition?"

"Something like that." Draco felt his mouth curl into a smile at her playful snark.

Hermione laughed at his secretive purr. "You're incorrigible."

"That's probably the least offensive thing you've called me in a while. I hope this nasty wedding business doesn’t have you losing your touch. It’ll leave everything after the fact _so_ boring."

Draco nudged her chin up to look at him with the crook of a finger, her stare having drifted to her hands as they messed with the hem of her blouse the way she did whenever she'd somehow become the center of anyone's attention. He didn't expect the flush to her cheeks or the shy, watery shine of those big brown eyes when they refocused on him again and the look made his heart stutter involuntarily. His suave exterior faltered for just a moment before he wrangled it back into place.

"Guest list, wedding party, flowers, colors, venue, food. Got it? As soon as you can or we'll be doing the court wedding after all." He waited for her nod, giving her one in return when she did. Without waiting for her to voice whatever appeared to be warring on her face, he turned on his heel and exited her office as quickly as he could without breaking into a run.

That had not at _all_ been what he'd planned to accomplish from that impromptu meeting.

Draco had just wanted to confirm she'd been seen to as far as her gown and poke a bit of fun at her however he could, knowing she would be upset he sent her to such an expensive designer. He hadn't expected to come out of there agreeing to a bloody ceremony - hell, _insisting_ on it. But then he hadn't expected her to sound so damned depressed about the whole thing either.

The way her eyes lit up every time he mentioned a proper wedding -- however fleeting -- only to be dragged back into sullenness by whatever was circling in her head, holding her back...if all it took was some coins and some favors to take her mind off it, it was a pittance to pay. The more Hermione acted like this depressed, brooding, moody witch and less like _his_ Granger, the more he felt compelled to do whatever was necessary to get them at least back to ground zero where he was most comfortable. Draco remained confident this would bring her back around. At least, that’s what he told himself, pointedly ignoring the lingering sense of satisfaction in the back of his mind that seemed content to be stuck on the smile she’d done an awful job of suppressing just before he left.

After Draco’s departure, Hermione was left alone, yet again, in her office.

She’d returned to her desk and sat back down, binning the remainder of her sandwich in favor of staring hard at a stack of blank parchment. Her research book remained shut, her lunch was over, and there she sat, rolling her favorite quill between the fingers of her right hand and nibbling at the edge of her bottom lip, trying her damnedest not to grin.

She kept telling herself she shouldn't be excited. That there were too many bad things about this situation to allow herself to enjoy it to any degree.

She also had a voice in her head telling her to listen to him.

Hermione had always done what was expected or demanded of her, even this wedding nonsense. Why should she continue to let them have everything? She wanted a wedding – a _real_ wedding – why _shouldn’t_ she have it?

It wouldn't be perfect. It wouldn't be exactly like her dream ceremony, but it would be _hers_.

For all his bad qualities, Draco offered her a promise in not so many words to deliver on her demands--on all that was feasible. And, for once in her life, she begged her righteous, self-sacrificing side to just accept the damned offer. Even knowing in her head he must have had ulterior motives seeing as how he never operated without them, she still found it difficult to object. Especially when he fixed her with such serious, earnest looks.

It was settled, then.

If she was to be forced to marry, she would have as much of her dream fleshed out as possible.

She'd give all those stupid reporters still making time to hound either of them something to talk about.

She, Hermione Granger, was getting married on her own terms.


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione sat cross-legged on her living room floor with her coffee table scooted out of the way so she could spread all of her documents out in front of her. Ginny was nearby, stretched out on her belly and flipping through some magazines with her legs bent at the knee, kicking behind her while Hermione scribbled some options into a notebook.

"What do you think about violets, Hermione? Those are nice. Oh, or daffodils! They would be nice and bright."

Hermione shook her head. "Alstroemeria for the bouquet."

"Alstro-wha?"

"Alstroemeria." She looked up to see Ginny's blank look. "Peruvian lilies. I'm still not certain of the colors, but they come in a decent enough variety..."

"Okay...well what colors do you want for the theme? You can figure your bouquet and the decorations based on all of that." Ginny rested her cheek in the palm of one hand.

Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip, flipping through one of the books Ginny brought over with the fabric color swatches she'd used in planning her own ceremony.

"I don't know...Gin, why didn’t you tell me this was going to be so difficult?"

"What? You mean Hermione Granger of all people didn't know how complex weddings were?" She teased, stifling her chuckles at the deadly look shot her way. Ginny wriggled around to sit back up and closed up the surrounding books. "We've been trying to figure this one out for the last two hours, maybe we should try something else for a bit. What else do we have that you need to make a decision on?"

Hermione shook her head, continuing flipping through pages of color samples and checking them against the swatch of dress fabric Endora gave her.

"This should be the last of it. I'm pretty sure everything else is covered."

"No way," Ginny said in astonishment. She knew the witch took today and some of the day before off after lunch, but she never would've figured that even Hermione could make decisions on practically everything needed for a wedding in a day and a half. Sometimes she suspected she really did still have that time turner hiding somewhere. "Let me see the list."

Ginny reached across the piles of papers and magazines to pluck the parchment from Hermione’s hand. She scanned over the list and sure enough everything aside from the flower arrangements and the overall color scheme were already decided on. Normally, she would've thought these would’ve been the first for a bride to come up with, but then Hermione never had been the most typical of witches.

Now she was _sure_ the woman had that time turner still stashed away.

Peering over the paper to see Hermione engrossed once again in her task, Ginny wondered if the wrinkle in her forehead would ever come out with how much furrowing she’d been doing since she arrived to help.

"You missed one other thing on here, Hermione."

Brown eyes shot up, wide with quickly blooming fear.

"What? I what? Where?! What else is there?!"

Ginny snatched up a pen and scribbled an additional line below all the others that were already crossed off before handing the paper back.

Hermione read the new line aloud. "...wedding night attire and un..der...things-- _GINNY!"_

The redhead chuckled at the deepening color swiftly overtaking Hermione’s face.

"What?” Ginny asked. “It’s also a very important decision."

During movie night, Hermione finally confided in Ginny that her wedding night would be her first time ‘being’ with a man – a fact Ginny had already gleaned from her and Draco’s discussion in his office all those days ago, evasive and vague as he’d been. After talking with Hermione about it some, she seemed less nervous and was able to at least speak about it more casually than before. She also responded surprisingly well to Ginny’s good natured teasing, the casual talk about it bolstering her. Still, Ginny counted her blessings that Hermione’s reaction to her suggestion wasn’t more volatile.

Her own reaction to the idea of Draco Malfoy being Hermione’s ‘first’, and in that situation especially, was something close to livid outrage on Hermione’s behalf. If she were honest about it, though, all the hoops and ladders the wizard was traversing for Hermione’s sake was doing well to thaw her frigid opinion of him.

Ginny still didn’t like him by any stretch of the imagination, of course, but some of her fears of Hermione being hurt by the man lessened. She would still be sure to make another round of threats to his well-being before the day arrived, but it made her less concerned about Hermione’s fate even if it meant her being just that much guiltier about encouraging her to take what she wanted from Draco to make the evening her own.

Although Ginny was starting to suspect Draco Malfoy was swiftly closing that emotional distance he claimed to have about everything if some of the stunts he was pulling to make this wedding happen were any indication.

"Ginny, I am _not_ going to make a fool of myself on my wedding night by getting dressed up like some kind of...of dominatrix!"

" _Dominatrix?_ What kind of magazines have you been reading in preparation?"

Hermione’s face heated more. "None! I mean I haven't--I mean...can we just leave this one alone?"

"Sure." Ginny shrugged and snickered. "But I think this is just as important for you as your big day. You should enjoy it."

"Enjoy it?" Hermione sputtered. "Have you forgotten exactly who I'm being forced to _shack up_ with?"

Ginny grinned at the slang and the Hermione’s obvious efforts in her discreet research in the very non-Hermione-esque terminology.

"I haven't,” Ginny said. “But you could. Just imagine you're with someone else to get into the mood. Sometimes it's fun to do that anyway."

Hermione blinked at her friend's deviant look and buried her nose further into her color swatches.

"I'm not hearing this. I hope you understand that I'm not hearing a word of whatever barmy language you’re speaking."

"Fine, fine, fine."

Ginny crawled over to sit in front of Hermione's couch, bringing her knees up to her chest and leaning her head back against the seat cushions. She eyed the other woman and smirked at the flush to her skin. Hermione’s glazed stare was directed at the book she held but Ginny was certain she wasn’t looking at those swatches anymore at all.

"Do you think he’s attractive?"

That drew a loud snort from Hermione, a reaction that was far too quick and far too loud.

" _Malfoy?_ Not bloody likely! There’s nothing at all attractive about that git!”

“Yeah. Yeah...you’re right, of course. He’s just--”

“Pasty!” Hermione blurted, nose back in her swatches. She flipped a page a bit too harshly, looked at it for too few seconds to have seen anything, and flipped to another one. “The prat is so pale and fair, if he were to go out into the sun and you looked directly at him, you’d go blind.”

Ginny had trouble suppressing a snort. “He is pretty difficult to stomach.”

“And his teeth--they’re nearly just as white as his skin! Heaven forbid the man smiles and you get caught by a tooth sparkle!”

“You’d be speared by the light!”

“Absolutely!” Hermione huffed but faltered thinking about the last time she’d seen him smile at her. She cleared her throat and turned to another page. “And he’s too tall.”

At that one, Ginny quirked a brow. “Is he?” she asked. “I thought you liked tall men. He’s about the same height as Ron, I reckon.”

Hermione cleared her throat again. “Yes, well--”

“And Krum--actually, yeah, Krum was about that height as well, wasn’t he? A bit taller?”

“Ginny--”

“And McLaggen--”

“GINNY!” Hermione screeched, silencing the other woman who was biting at her lip to stifle her laughter. Drawing in a deep breath and blowing it all the way out before returning to her swatch book, she asked, “Was there a point you were trying to make?”

Ginny shrugged.

“Just an observation.”

When she didn’t elaborate further, Hermione looked up from the book, narrowed her eyes at the redhead, and said, “Which is…?”

“You just seem to enjoy tall men, is all.”

Hermione huffed a second time that evening. “Coincidence. Besides, it’s easy to ‘date tall men’ when you’re as short as I am. It’s not really a very good observation, Gin, sorry to say.”

“Oh, right, and there’s the Quidditch thing.”

Hermione froze mid-page turn.

“What...Quidditch thing?”

“You know... _your_ Quidditch thing.”

“I don’t have a ‘Quidditch thing’,” Hermione spoke too quickly with a very loud scoff to break it up. “I hate the bloody game! It’s so barbaric and full of--”

“ _Very_ fit and athletic men flying around on their brooms all suited up in well fitted uniforms and pads. Sometimes if you look hard enough when they’re hovering, you can get a glimpse of their arse and kit. Particularly on the handless flyers--you know the blokes. The ones that just steer with their hips and thighs while they beat and bludgeon or cast about for that fool Snitch.”

Hermione choked, nearly ripping the page she tried to flip. “I-I-I’ve never noticed. I hate the game.”

“Mm. You do, that. Just not the men playing it. Or how they look in their uniforms.”

“That’s _NOT_ true!”

Ginny sent a skeptical look her way and Hermione swallowed, absently picking up a short stack of papers and using it to fan the heat from her face.

“It’s not that I fancy men in uniform, I just...I just think it’s...great.”

The laughter Ginny had been doing her best to squash busted out of her.

 _“Great?”_ she echoed.

“ _Yes,”_ Hermione hissed reaching over to smack Ginny with the papers. “I mean it’s just...great! When a man--or-or a woman! When _any_ individual keeps themselves in such dutiful shape like that, you know? And it’s--it’s something that deserves respect and appreciation. ...and it’s...it’s great.”

“Uh-huh. And I suppose the rippling abdominals and tight arses have nothing to do with it.”

Hermione fanned herself again and shot the redhead a most prim and proper look.

“I just think that level of fitness is--it’s just admirable, is all. It requires dedication and commitment and--”

“Did you know Malfoy still plays in some community Quidditch games at the stadium?” Ginny asked.

Hermione’s words sputtered to a halt.

The vivid recollection of Draco’s firm stretch of body pressed to hers during their housing adventures surfaced--the traitorous thing. That and a smattering of other brief memories crossed her mind: one of his hands brushing hers to snatch her quill away and sign a proposal they’d been fighting over and how rough the pads of his fingers were when they touched her skin, another more recent one with that same rough hand coaxing hers out of their fidgeting as he convinced her to have a wedding with him.

She swallowed and felt as though the whole world must have heard.

“He does what now?”

Ginny nodded, looking thoughtful about the topic. “Him and Zabini are there pretty often now that I think of it. I see them when we go out to the pitch to practice and we’re coming off the field.”

“We-well, that’s just--just _brilliant_. Good to know he’s keeping himself busy,” Hermione stammered. “I’m sure keeping a firm body is why he's so well hung.” Hermione’s eyes went wide and she felt her face burning. "HIS SUITS! His suits are well hung--I mean tailored!"

She turned sharply in the direction of Ginny who was already looking back at her, face bright, brows up, and mouth half-open in the sort of expression a woman ready to inhale a world’s worth of gossip might wear.

“Right,” Ginny drawled. “Suits, too, eh?”

“I've--I’ve no idea what you're talking about," she mumbled, curling back into her color samples.

"Mm..alright."

 

* * *

**_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!_ **

Draco’s eyes slid up from the stacks of papers spread across his work desk, propelled by severely unkind thoughts at whoever was disturbing him that early in day. He had a universe’s worth of work to do and no time to be disrupted.

**_KNOCK KNOCK!_ **

His usual sneer crept onto his features.

**_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!_ **

"Hold your damned hippogriffs!” he snarled from where he sat.

Hauling himself to his feet, Draco stomping over to answer his office door.

“For fuck's sake, what the hell do you-- _Granger?_ " In a startling reversal of their positions from the other day, Draco blinked down at the witch who was holding a thick stack of papers in her arms and balancing a cup in her hand. He looked to the mantel clock -- _5 am? Yup_ \-- then back to her, finally moving aside and motioning her into his office. "What are you doing here this early?"

"I brought the plans...for the wedding." Hermione waited for him, shifting awkwardly.

She’d not expected him to be there that early, either. While Hermione was known for coming in at the crack of dawn, she had no idea anyone else ever ventured in that early as well. The Atrium had always been eerily silent when she arrived, anyway, so she’d just assumed the day didn’t start for another few hours for most of the rest of the staff. Prepared to wait out his arrival, Hermione had picked up a cup of coffee at a Muggle shop before heading in with the intention of sipping on it and lurking outside his door.

By the look of the developing bags under his eyes, she should have brought two.

Draco looked at her again, standing in the center of his office, her arms supporting the bundle of parchment. He blinked past the sleep still crusted in his eyes and tried to make sense of why she was there but his brain hadn’t quite woken up yet. It didn’t help that he'd been sleeping poorly the past few nights. Unable to shake it nor determine the source of the restlessness, he’d started rolling into work as soon as he was up and conscious enough to Floo in.

Usually, by midday he managed to normalize, but at the moment, all he could do was blink at the bushy haired woman who continued to blink back.

"Right...wedding plans." Draco's voice was thick and rough with signs of sleep that had yet to dislodge itself from his throat.

Draco shuffled back behind his desk as Hermione looked on, waiting for him to flop into his chair before she took a seat herself as well as the chance to observe him.

From where she sat, she could see Draco teetering in his chair, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows with a few errant ink stains visible on his arms from where she guessed he’d leaned too heavily on some reworked proposals before they were dry. The splotches near the faded Mark on his left arm were almost funny at how mundane a picture it made.

It’d been years since catching sight of Draco’s Mark disturbed her, having long since grown used to both it and its wearer’s presence. Sometimes, if she thought about it too much, it would still bother her, so she tried not to. When that failed, she took solace in Draco’s own poorly hidden revulsion of the thing.

Hermione knew he preferred to keep it covered in the presence of others -- she suspected in hers in particular -- so the fact that he hadn’t bothered to hide himself led her to believing he was just as mentally absent as she thought. That and the fact that his top few shirt buttons were unfastened, his tie loosened and askew, and his blazer was thrown haphazardly over one of the extra chairs in his office.

All in all, he was uncharacteristically unkempt and, frankly, he looked like shit.

"Malfoy? Are you alright? You seem...off."

"Of course, I'm alright." His words slurred and the scowl he presented was more for the failure of his motor skills than to her question. "Come on, hand them over, let's see."

Hermione slid the papers across his desk, watching him fumble. Although, to his credit, even his fumbling was elegant and he did hide it rather smoothly. His intense concentration on the inked lines left the air too still and silent so she tried to fill it with idle chatter while he read through them.

"I tried to make a decision on everything as soon as I could to give you enough time. I know yesterday would've been better, but I figured I'd just give them all to you first thing today instead and maybe it'll be enough time to get everything straight. We only have a few days left now and I hope I didn't cut it too close, but I even had Ginny help some last night since she's done this kind of thing before and--"

"Granger."

She stopped mid-sentence to find Draco pausing his perusal of the documents to blink tiredly overtop the parchment at her.

"It's fine. These all look perfectly doable. The only thing I was even remotely concerned about was the venue and you've picked an easy enough place to procure...considering I own it. Are you sure about the guest list though?"

Hermione puffed up, ready to defend her guests.

"I know you don't like each other, but I _was_ hoping you'd be mature enough to not make an issue of him coming--"

Draco snorted but it turned into a yawn, only stifled by the back of a loosely closed fist. He waved her rehearsed speech away with the same hand.

"Not that. I figured you'd be inviting the Weasel...and the rest of the ginger kids. I just mean it's rather small. The guest list _and_ the wedding party for that matter."

She blew out the argument she'd spent so much time putting together and sighed, nodding.

"I'm sure. I've never liked huge weddings. Nobody really cares about these things except for the bride anyway."

Draco grew a little more lucid at the grin she flashed with her last comment; that look having been seen so sparingly over the past couple of weeks since her depression had taken hold. He hated to admit it, but he found it refreshing.

"You're not wrong." He let out a hoarse chuckle and went back to looking over the plans like any of her other proposals he was so used to. He missed the tension around her eyes at his words entirely.

Finishing the scanning of her guest list, Draco noticed there were no 'Grangers' listed anywhere in it – Hermione’s parents were missing from this list just as they were absent on the Floo access one.

When he chanced a glance up at her, he caught her staring intently at one of his office tiles, worrying her lip and doing that ‘glazed far off look thing’ that she'd fallen into as such a bad habit of as of late. The question about her parents floated to the top of his mind again. He'd asked it once before when they formulated their last list and she'd given him the rawest, most stricken look he'd ever seen in those chocolate colored eyes.

It’d made him never want to ask again.

Even in his fuzzy headed state, Draco surmised that something about her current relationship with her parents, whatever that entailed, was causing at least a portion of her anxiety. He wondered if she’d ever tell him why she continued to exclude them from her life. If the curiosity continued nagging at him, he might have to do some behind the scenes research on it...but for the moment, he would leave it alone. Between his two to three hours of sleep a night and the task set ahead of him to satisfy his future bride's list of requirements, he had enough on his plate without trying to stick his nose into a whole new can of worms.

"Looks good, Granger. I'll start on this at lunch. I know someone who’ll be able to make short work of your requests for us."

That news brought her smile back from wherever it'd been hiding away and it was a burst of sunshine and energy in Draco’s otherwise dreary home away from home.

Though the smile broke through, Hermione did well to contain the rest of her excitement. Once she stopped resisting and started to embrace the idea of enacting the closest thing to her dream wedding as she could get in these less than optimal circumstances, her heart lightened. She did feel bad thinking of it that way, though, considering a huge part of those 'circumstances' was Draco.

Draco, the one who was responsible for putting this all together for her without a second thought about the inconvenience or the expense.

Hermione frowned inwardly at her behavior and stared hard at the lid of her coffee cup. Even if it was Malfoy, she had no excuse to be ungrateful.  An idea flickered to life in her head. She blurted the shy offer before she could stop herself.

"Do you want the rest of my coffee?"

"Pardon?" Draco blinked tiredly.

Hermione flushed and repeated herself, more confidently this time.

"My coffee," she said, placing it on his desk and scooting it towards him. Feeling foolish but determined to go through with the peace offering, she added, "I've barely touched it, I assure you."

Draco raised a fine blond eyebrow, the edge of his mouth quirking up with it.

"Offering me your sloppy seconds, Granger? I'm flattered." His sarcasm was lacking; his bland, tired tone was easy proof of that.

Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Come on, Malfoy. Just take the bloody thing. You look like death warmed over. Maybe after a few sips you'll get some of your color back and go from ashen and dull to... _sallow_ and dull."

He chuckled, the noise more of a craggy rumble than anything. "Whatever."

Draco reached out to scoop up the coffee cup, eying it a second before raising it in a small salute and having a sip. When he pulled away, his lips had a sheen to them and he looked puzzled. His tongue swept across his bottom lip before he cast a thoughtful glance her way.

"You might want to take some coffee with your sugar next time."

Hermione blinked at him in confusion. She took her coffee with a modest two creams, two sugars. What was he talking about with sugar? When the light caught his lips again, her eyes widened in realization and she couldn't help the snicker at his expense.

"Sorry, I think you got some of my gloss on you. Easy fix."

Without thinking, Hermione leaned over his desk, reached a slim hand to his lips, and swiped her thumb across the flesh to wipe away the thin coating that'd transferred from the cup lid to him.

That single action was as jarring as a bucket of frigid water dousing Draco awake.

He was stunned by her touch at his lips. More so when Hermione's hand curled around his cheek to anchor her as she dragged her thumb over his mouth, the edge of her nail raking across his upper lip and sending a profound shiver straight through him. The pad of it paused at the center of his lips and he pursed them out of reflex--not a kiss, more a twitch than anything.

Draco’s gaze trailed up her arm over the modestly displayed cleavage from the dip in her blouse, up the long line of her neck, and further still to her eyes which were as wide as his now when she realized exactly what she’d done.

Swallowing and moving slowly so as not to startle, Draco slid one of his hands over her arm, his fingers dragging over the skin exposed by her short sleeves. As his touch trailed up the length of her forearm, he thought on how impossibly smooth her skin was, soft and silky even to the barest of his touches; she shivered. His hand paused at her wrist to gently tug it away from his face, while he fervently ignored the urge to brush his thumb across the backs of her knuckles.

Gray eyes locked with brown and neither seemed able to free themselves for the longest of moments.

"Thank you," Draco murmured, his voice a gravelly morning sound more than anything else. As an afterthought, he motioned the cup towards her. "For the coffee."

Hermione gulped and nodded, moving as slowly as he had to sit back until he had no choice but to release her arm, their fingers brushing each other’s as they separated.

"You're welcome,” she said, proceeding to worry at her lip in the stilted tension of the room. Hermione’s nerves flared to life alongside the rushing heat flooding her veins when she saw Draco's eyes snap to the movement of her drawing her lip between her teeth. She released it immediately and stumbled to her feet.

Walking herself backwards out of his office, tripping over her feet at _least_ once, Hermione stammered, "I'll just--I'll leave you to get done--your work! To get your other work done!"

Draco jolted back to the present, blinking up at the rest of her face when she spoke again. He’d missed her fumbling entirely, too busy with having to claw his way out of his daze.

"Yeah! Yes. Sounds good, Granger--we’ll-- _yes._ "

Hermione let herself out, nearly slamming his door in her haste to remove herself from his presence.

The pattering flutter of her heart in her chest had her blood thrumming.

Never before had she gotten so close to him--not like _that._ Hermione had no idea what had gotten into her! She could only blame it on the fact she was getting far too comfortable in his company for her liking.

That and one meddling redhead for planting ideas in her head.


	12. Chapter 12

The clock on Draco’s mantel began its gentle chime of twelve bells.

He just barely finished wading through the rest of the day's proposals by the time the twelfth bell struck. His extra hours in the morning – and his intense focus and determination to lose himself in his work following Hermione’s unexpected visit – worked very well in getting through his work so he could concentrate on other things, namely, getting this list of wedding to-do's done.

He'd originally had the Friday of their planned court wedding off, but after receiving the stack of plans from his fiancée that morning, he sent a memo to his department head to arrange for the rest of this week and next for the formal ceremony and the honeymoon he'd taken to plotting. If he were anyone else, the hopes of getting all the arrangements taken care of in two and a half days at this point would be futile.

Luckily for him, he wasn't anyone else. He was Draco Malfoy, and there still were some perks to carrying such a tainted name.

Scooping a handful of powder from the ceramic bowl over his office fireplace, he tossed it into the flames, watching them flare to life before calling his destination.

"Malfoy Manor." Draco was barely through the flames, the whoosh of his arrival still fading from his ears when the hurried clicking of heels echoed in the room.

"Draco? Draco is that you?" The lilt of a familiar female voice sounded out with hopeful excitement.

"Good afternoon, mother,” he said with genuine warmth.

The Malfoy matriarch scurried over to him, enveloping him in a tight hug. When she finally pulled away to grin up at him, blue eyes glittering, he gave her one of his rarer smiles and a kiss on the cheek.

One said perk of being Draco Malfoy tasked with the mission of producing invitations and procuring flowers, refreshments, and decorations for a ceremony in two and a half days would be having access to one of the most practiced socialites in current wizarding society: Narcissa Malfoy.

"My boy! What brings you home today? Not that I'm not happy to see you but--"

"But you never come to the Manor anymore unless you need something."

Draco's smile withered at the slithering sound of another, equally familiar, voice.

"Father.” All the joy drained out of Draco’s tone. “You seem well."

For every perk, there was a flaw. In this case, the counterbalance to Narcissa was _Lucius_ Malfoy.

"Of course,” Lucius said. “No thanks to you."

Draco's jaw twitched and he felt his mother turn in his loose embrace, vaguely noticing her hiss at her husband to hold his tongue.

"It's _nice_ to see you, whatever the reason. Isn't that right, Lucius?"

The older Malfoy sneered at his son and said again, "Of course."

Draco placed a guiding hand at his mother's back, leading her into one of the smaller dining rooms for lunch.

"I'm sorry mother, I'll make an effort to come by more often." He leaned close to his mother's ear to whisper, "Owl me whenever he's not around." The comment earned him a light smack to the arm but she smirked anyway. "I'm afraid I do need your help with something, though."

Narcissa frowned, taking a seat at the table that already had a modest spread of food laid out on its surface with two place settings. She called one of their house elves to set Draco a place as well and soon enough the three of them were ready for lunch.

"What's the matter, Draco? You know we'll help you however we can."

Lucius scoffed but said nothing else.

Narcissa shot him a glare then gasped suddenly, mostly to herself at a concerning thought.

"Is it about that dreadful law The Minister passed? I know you owled us to let us know the agreement with the Greengrass' had been nullified because of it--"

"A pity that. They were one of our better chances to get back into the good graces of 'the community'," Lucius commented, starting in on his soup.

Draco ignored him and nodded to his mother. He'd very eagerly owled them that day to let them know the engagement to Tori was off...he just happened to neglect mentioning who he would be hitched to in lieu of the youngest Greengrass sister. In his defense, when he started writing the letter, he hadn't yet known _who_ his new witch would be. He just didn't feel the need to correct it and rewrite it before he sent it after his meeting with Hermione and their caseworker.

"It _is_...actually," Draco started awkwardly, producing a tiny stack of papers and waving his wand atop them to restore them to their original state. He slid the stack towards his mother and folded his hands back on the table giving her his most charming smile. "I need your help with the wedding. We have until Friday."

Narcissa's eyes bugged at the cited deadline.

"Draco! A whole wedding in little more than two days? Son, I'm not sure even I can make that happen. Is that the latest we have?" She pulled the tie securing the papers and began looking through them.

"It is. We’ve already gotten a one week extension as it is." Draco reached across the table to rest his hand over hers, offering his sweetest, saddest look that only ever worked on Narcissa. "It's important, mother. Can you see what you can do?"

Narcissa knew what her son was doing, but even after all these years, she still found it difficult to resist. She felt her heart knock against her ribcage and set her jaw against the turning in her gut at the idea of not coming through for him. She nodded.

"Yes, of course. I'll get with some of my coordinators and see what we can do."

Draco blew out a heavy breath, overacting his relief at her words and grinned at her again.

"Thank you, mother. You truly are a lifesaver."

"Who is the bride?"

His look of satisfaction dampened at his father's question and Draco cast him a short look and muttered an answer.

"Draco, don't mumble. _Who_ is your bride?" Lucius snapped at his son, wishing he had his cane nearby to jab at him.

"Hermione Granger."

" _Hermione Granger?_ " Narcissa stilled in her rifling of papers, the shock plain on her face.

Draco's confident poise faltered.

Part of him had actually been hoping for a court wedding so he wouldn't necessarily _have_ to invite his parents. But, in light of the new plans, he supposed it was only a matter of time before they found out. He knew it would come up if he were to ask for his mother's help in the first place, but he would be lying to himself if he said he didn't hope they wouldn't have the sense to ask.

"Hermione Granger?" The drawl from Lucius was smooth and slow, much like the way his eyebrow crept up his forehead. "Is this a _joke_?"

The degree of calm from his father after his announcement made him leery, it was like a rattler's tail sounding off in warning.

"I'm afraid it's not, father. Granger and I have been deemed the ‘most compatible together’ of our options." At the memory of the pair of them being relegated to faceless numbers and scores, Draco scowled. The numbers truly were impressive, but he still thought the entire thing to be a load of manure.

Lucius snorted.

" _Compatible?_ They must not have been paying attention to what they were doing when they determined that arrangement." His tone was venomous now, a sneer on his lips at the thought. " _MY_ son, marrying a Mudblood--"

" _Lucius!_ You know they prosecute people for the use of that word now!"

He huffed petulantly at his wife. "It's a sad time indeed if I cannot speak freely in my own home!" Lucius' steely eyes looked to his son. "I shall take refuge in the fact that at least you're not in love with the savage."

The last wasn't phrased as a question, but his father was looking at him like he expected some kind of response.

"No, father, I'm not in love with _Hermione,_ ” Draco corrected him, surprised at the degree of anger bubbling inside him at how his father addressed his fiancee.

While his parents shut themselves away after the war, only surrounding themselves with old money and old thoughts, he’d not had that luxury. Between working within Kingsley’s new ‘progressive’ Ministry and eagerly disavowing any residuals from Voldemort’s rule after his family was freed, Draco had pulled far from his parents’ rigid thinking. He told himself that was the only reason he was so agitated by his father’s comment and ignored how distasteful agreeing to the statement aloud felt.

It wasn't a lie, he most certainly was not in love with Hermione Granger. He wouldn't even go so far as to call her a friend. She was going to be his wife in the most plain and sterile sense of the word...but she wasn’t a savage. Nor was she lesser than him in anything. She’d proved it time and time again in school, on the battlefield, at The Ministry...in their scores.

Draco sneered at the thought of those scores again and Lucius relaxed some, taking his son’s expression to be in reference to the idea of his coupling with filth.

"We shall just have to find another way to... _make do_ with this union. Fortunately, there is at least opportunity here."

"What are you referring to?" Draco’s expression shifted to one of caution, not liking at all the way his father said that.

"This--" His father waved at the stack of papers in front of Narcissa and back to Draco. "--idiocy. The entire point of the Greengrass marriage was to work our way back in to...more favorable light with our circles and the general masses since they weren't as frequently spoken about in the last war. They assured me that even with little Astoria taking the Malfoy name there was enough pull with the family to lift us back up to our rightful status. At least the Mud--" At the hard look from his wife, he sneered. " _Miss Granger_ will also offer an avenue for such a task."

The comment sent an awful wave of understanding through Draco's head.

"You mean… use my marriage to restore the Malfoy name because of her status within Potter's circle." Draco stifled his sneer, but just so.

"Precisely, my boy! I knew you weren't lost to me yet. For once the silly girl's charities and activism may be useful. You two will wed and be in the papers constantly. It will only be a matter of time before all those upturned noses look to us again in fondness."

Draco's frown returned at hearing how proud his father was of the scheme – of _him_ being a part of it. A handful of years ago, he would be beaming and eating it all up from the man he once admired and followed without question. Now...well now the plot to use her as some kind of political bargaining chip left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Lucius, dear, have you forgotten the other part of the law?" Narcissa questioned her husband carefully. She never quite knew when he was going to slip into his more unstable of mindsets and some things were easier triggers than others--one never came back from Azkaban the same and he’d been twice. "The children."

Lucius waved away her reminder.

"We shall find Draco a proper mistress. It’s not my first choice, but bad enough to have the Muggle-born in the family. We can at least have him father a child with a Pureblooded witch and parade it off as theirs."

"I hardly think Granger would agree to something like that," Draco piped up bitterly despite the fact the capability for such activities was the very function of their secondary contract. Although, to be fair, he’d not imagined him being the one to take advantage of it.

"Then pay her off." Lucius shrugged. "We'll draw up a settlement and have her sign."

"Hermione's not interested in money, father," Draco said.

The compulsion to defend her honor bubbled to the surface. Granted, he acted on it more to piss off the older Malfoy than anything else, but that Lucius could be so clueless as to her workings despite all the articles published about her on the regular, meant he found himself growing intensely frustrated.

Not only that, but Lucius was speaking dangerously all for the matter of status. It was all the same tripe that nearly got them all killed when Voldemort had risen again. His father was obsessed with name and rank and seemed to care very little about the casualties along the way, even if they ended up being his own family.

At Draco’s continued rebuttals, Lucius' humor faded, a glare taking its spot with his sights zeroed in on his son.

"Then we will find what she _is_ interested in and bargain with that. You forget that _everyone_ has a price, Draco."

"And you've obviously forgotten what kinds of people fill the house of Gryffindor, _Lucius_."

"Why you insolent--!"

Lucius shot up from his seat and Draco did as well, both glaring with the air snapping between them as the current of their anger manifested in their magic.

" ** _Gentlemen!_ ** "

Narcissa rose, too, a hand outstretched to both husband and son, begging for pause.

"Let us worry about these details at a later date. The wedding still has to _happen_ first. Why don't we just enjoy the rest of our _family_ lunch together?" She looked sternly to one then the other, urging them to calm themselves. "Lucius? Draco?"

Draco sneered at his father, moving to his mother's side.

"I'm sorry, mother, my break is almost over. I need to be getting back to the office." He leaned down to place a parting kiss to her temple. "Please excuse me."

Narcissa sighed heavily, leaning into the quick peck and nodded.

"Certainly, dear. I’ll work on these after lunch and will owl you this evening with news."

Draco rubbed a few light circles between his mother’s shoulder blades fondly when he drew her in for a brief hug.

"Thank you,” he said, then eyed his father, lip curling. "Father."

He didn't wait for the man’s response before making his exit and taking the Floo back to his office to finish out the day and work on his other planning.

How he loathed coming home.

 

* * *

 

The days leading to the wedding passed quickly with Hermione and Draco avoiding each other as much as possible after the awkward encounter in his office the other morning.

Like Draco, Hermione had taken off the rest of the week to prepare. It was easy for her to keep dodging him, though, as she spent her time working diligently to pack up her belongings from her flat to be moved into their new home. She had little time to think of Draco in all the rush to get things sent over prior to their ceremony, for her chosen venue had been the backyard of their new house.

Hermione had always known she wanted a small ceremony reminiscent of Bill and Fleur’s in the comforts of her home or old stomping grounds. For the longest while, she was sure that was going to happen at The Burrow, like theirs--all the way until her breakup with Ron, anyway. While she couldn’t deny she was pleased to have the opportunity to still play out a longtime want, she told herself it was practical as well.

After all, they had such limited time to decide on things and she knew for a _fact_ their backyard would be available--it just made sense. It also got housewarming out of the way, what with holding the reception there as well.

Many birds, one stone.

Thankfully, she had only to worry about her belongings since Draco was coordinating and overseeing the new furniture and other miscellany they’d agreed on for delivery to their new home.

Hermione still had a couple of months left on her lease for her apartment and was in no hurry to move too many bulky items since most of the place would be furnished with all their “matching upholstery” and “coordinated linens” so she just concentrated on moving necessities and some few personal odds and ends.

Draco appeared to have done the same, for as she stood in their new bedroom, she saw the wardrobe and closet already partially filled. She also found it more than a little irksome to realize he didn't wait for her to voice a preference on the division of space. But, pushing her annoyance to the back of her mind, Hermione floated around inside their bedroom’s huge walk-in closet with an armful of clothes to hang and wrangling her huge dress bag to prepare before Ginny would arrive to help with hair and makeup.

To say Endora Roux delivered beyond expectations on her and Ginny's dresses was a severe understatement. They’d both gone the night before, cutting it close as ever, and were anything but disappointed at the absolutely _gorgeous_ gowns.

Hermione had been worried about needing additional fittings but Endora truly was a prodigy and a genius of her trade. Both dresses fit perfectly, hers especially fit like a glove the very first time she slipped it on and the sight of it on her nearly brought Ginny to tears. If she thought to admit it, her own reaction was no better. There may also have been an inappropriate amount of eagerness there considering who she was marrying, but it was so much more than she ever could have expected, she couldn't help herself.

With no small amount of struggling, Hermione hooked the dress onto one of the bare spots of the closet near the back and stared at the equally beautiful white _la roux_ branded bag. Biting her lip, Hermione reasoned Ginny wouldn’t be there to help her get prepped and pampered for at least another half hour so there was still time for her to have another peek at her gown. Of its own accord, her hand reached out to grab the zip and tugged it down, revealing inch by inch the decadent ultra smooth snow white silk and beading. The shape of it was simple enough and flattering, but the extra touches Endora insisted on adding were also gorgeous. It should have been worth ten times what was paid for it.

Hermione's cheeks ached from smiling and it took her a great deal of time to pull herself away from admiring it but she eventually talked herself into storing it away again until later. When she made to zip up the bag, the bottom edge of it knocked something she hadn't noticed in the corner of the closet earlier.

Hermione frowned and stopped to see what it was Draco had thrown back there so carelessly and came back with a set of well-worn leather pads. Her brow dipped in her examination, twisting one of them around briefly until she remembered what Ginny said about him still playing in the community league games. How she never knew anything about such a league, she didn't really know, what with all her friends being so enamored with the game. Although, they _did_ all know she gave less than two shits about the sport so she wondered if they collectively decided to stop talking to her about; all things considered, she couldn't say she wasn't grateful for it.

As it usually did, curiosity got the better of her and she wondered if the community leagues had some kind of uniform or not. She imagined they would have to if they were to recognize who was who.

Forgetting about the pads and her dress for the moment, Hermione poked around the closet through the items Draco already brought over. To her surprise, she didn't find a new team jersey, but she _did_ come upon a very familiar green uniform with a worn looking _"MALFOY"_ emblazoned on the back. Considering the color and the unmistakable sight of the old Slytherin Quidditch uniform, she wasn't sure how she missed it before.

Her hand reached out to touch the thick green jumper that accompanied the robes, fingers stroking over the knit and taking in how soft it was for something that looked so bulky. She recalled very well how Draco looked in his last year in this very uniform, and though he'd definitely grown since then, she imagined it still might fit, albeit snugly.

An image of how his broadened shoulders and chest would fill it now flitted through her head and a wave of heat washed over her, pooling in her abdomen. Hermione cursed Ginny again for planting that seed.

"Admiring the goods, Granger?"

 _“BUGGERING SHIT!”_ Hermione shrieked, nearly leaping clear out of her skin as she whirled to face the wizard who just scared her within an inch of her life.

Holding a hand over her heart where it was threatening to beat its way out of her ribcage, she saw Draco grinning at her, hardly bothering to hide his sniggering. He leaned up against the closet door frame with arms folded, clad in one of his more casual shirts and slack ensembles.

"Merlin's sake, Malfoy!” Hermione hissed, coming down from her fright. “Don't _DO_ that!"

Draco chuckled, stepping further into the space.

"I saw your bag on the kitchen counter and called out for you, but you didn't answer." He nodded at his old uniform, still grinning. "I knew you were checking me out all those years ago."

"Wha--I was _not!_ " Hermione blushed, feeling the heat reaching from her cheeks all the way down her neck and into her chest. "I--I was hanging up my dress! And waiting for Ginny so I could start getting ready for this afternoon!"

The sentence was barely out of her mouth when she realized what was hung up right behind her and still in the unzipped bag.

"My dress! Malfoy! Out! You can't see it! Out, now!"

Draco’s humor morphed into confusion as the petite witch started waving her hands about frantically, eyes huge and panicked. He looked at her, puzzled.

"Why not? What's wrong with it?" Draco's mouth set into a grim line, the thought it wasn't tailored properly crossing his mind. "Does it not fit? What's wrong? Let me see. Endora has never let me down before--"

As soon as he started trying to push past her, Hermione became even more frantic. She shoved a hand into his cheek, smashing it with her palm and trying to keep him from seeing her dress.

"No! Malfoy, stop!"

"Granger, I'm just--"

"NO! You can't!"

"Why are you being so dodgy?"

"I don't want you to see!"

"If there's something wrong--"

"Malfoy, stop pushing!"

"YOU stop pushnff mmhfasche--” Draco pried Hermione’s hands from his cheeks when she’d taken to physically barring him from moving and snapped at her, “STOP IT!"

He attempted to peer over her head and get a glimpse of the dress, succeeding in barely a look at the hanger before her body slammed into him and pressed him up against one of the sets of wire shelving nearby.

Hermione pressed flush against him. In the stumble, her hands were freed from his grip so she latched them onto the sides of his head, palms blocking his line of sight like blinders on a horse.

Draco looked down at her as though she'd just gone mad, steadying her with his hands at her shoulders.

"Have you lost your bloody marbles, woman?!"

Hermione shook her head, wide eyes pleading.

"It's tradition!"

Draco blinked.

"It's _tradition_ for Muggle-born women to manhandle their future husband in a closet? If I'd known you were so kinky, love, I might've sprung for some different furniture."

"NO!" Hermione stepped away just enough to smack him hard on his chest, yelping and shaking out the sting of it when she connected with the unnecessarily solid muscle. "You can't see the dress before the wedding, you idiot! It's bad luck!"

He stared down at her, taking in her only slightly less panicked face and watched the rise and fall of her chest lessen somewhat. Her eyes remained serious. _She_ was still serious. He actually couldn't recall many other times he'd seen her so serious.

It was what brought his signature smirk creeping back onto his face.

"Well, well... _tradition_ you say? Mm..maybe I'm thinking of another bird, but I seem to recall someone that looked a bit like you being rather put off by 'tradition'. Do you remember who that was, Granger? I'm thinking of a face...I just. Can't. Remember."

"Sod off." Hermione grumbled, eyes shifting away as she wished the heat in her cheeks would cool.

He snorted, running his hands lightly over her shoulders until she looked up at him again.

"I won't look, Granger. Promise." Draco waited for her nod before he dropped his arms back to his sides, examining her again. "You know, I'm no expert on tradition--" She bit at her lip when he said it and he barely contained his cheeky grin. "--but I was _fairly_ certain it was that I couldn't see _you_ in the dress before the ceremony. And though the view isn't unpleasant as is, I don't see a dress."

Hermione's eyes flicked back to his face at the compliment to find him smiling at her; one of those rare ones he only shared on a particularly good day.

She wondered if he even realized he was doing it.

The strength of his gaze, drilling right down into her own was startling and suddenly much too intense.

"What are you doing here so early?" she blurted, changing the subject abruptly.

The question didn't deter his otherwise decent mood.

"Came to get my dress robes. I brought them over the day you brought me the plans and I saw the venue you picked." An mischievous glint twinkled in his eye. "In fact...I think they may be right over there, next to that big white bag--"

"Draco, you promised!" Hermione screeched, latching onto his arm pivoting to point towards her gown with the rest of her body.

He laughed loudly, the image of a pouting Hermione Granger too much. He wasn't able to contain himself.

The fact that she could somehow jut out her bottom lip _and_ chew at it between her teeth at the same time was actually very impressive. Thinking about how such an act would look in practice would've brought to mind a doofy expression, but however she was managing it, it turned out to be somehow...adorable.

His hand traveled of its own accord and he poked her lip until she stopped worrying at it and settled on just pouting instead.

"I was just trying to point out where they were," he purred.

Hermione huffed, far too exasperated by his behavior to notice the way he was looking her over.

"I'll locate your bloody robes! Now get out of this closet and stop trying to peek!"

"I'm not trying to peek."

"You are! There, you just did it again! Out! Get out!"

Draco left the space of the closet still chuckling, standing dutifully outside it as though he were guarding its entryway. Even though his back was turned, he easily heard Hermione bustling about inside the space. More so, he heard her grousing followed by a pronounced zipping sound. She rattled some hangers, grumbling to herself some more and soon enough he felt a tapping at his shoulder.

Hermione shoved an armful of clothing at him.

"Here. Now go away."

He smirked at the command and in response took his time looking over the items to make sure everything was there.

Draco had barely an inkling of how many formal events Hermione had attended in her time being part of wizarding society, but with her tendency of researching into the ground alone, he supposed he shouldn't have been so impressed by the completeness of the outfit. It all seemed to be in order: dress slacks, dress shirt, robes, vest, even the bow tie.

When he made it to his bow tie, Draco lifted a brow and with it, the silk tie he distinctly remembered being a different color.

"Last I recall, this was black,” he said, shaking it for emphasis.

Hermione folded her arms, her wand visible in the stance, though where she produced it from, Draco did not know.

"This is better," she said.

"I rather think I like my original tie better, Granger."

Her eyes shifted away and she mumbled something under her breath.

"How's that?" Draco asked.

She sighed and, reluctantly, said, "This will match my dress."

Both brows rose at that and Draco was suddenly all the more curious about what lay within the conspicuous white garment bag at the back of their closet.

"Your dress is _gold?"_

"No." She chewed at her lip, holding back a grin as she thought about it again. "It’ll match the accents."

Draco's mouth tugged itself back into a smirk, the sight of his witch – normally so calm and composed – near to buzzing out of her skin with anticipation. Seeing her like this after three weeks of experiencing her misery worn on her sleeve made him feel the need to be much more agreeable than usual.

"Fair enough."

He placed his tie over his arm with his other pieces and reached just past her to pull a pair of shiny and extraordinarily expensive dragonhide shoes from the shelving she’d pressed him against earlier.

"I’ll make myself scarce until this afternoon so you and Red can concentrate on taming that awful bird's nest atop your head.” The words came without malice and filled the space between them with comfortable familiarity. “Wouldn't want my owl to come roost in the midst of our vows."

Hermione rolled her eyes, pushing him through their bedroom and back to the hallway with the intent of kicking him out.

"You do that. And I can assure you, my hair won't be any kind of problem. We may have to powder your skin to a more palatable shade, though. Can't leave your gentle snow white complexion to catch the light badly and blind our guests."

Draco snorted.

"See you soon, Granger."

"Unfortunately."

The single word was laced with sarcasm but Draco could hear her grin right through it.


	13. Chapter 13

Narcissa was brilliant.

Ginny hated to admit it, but the fact of the matter was, it was true.

It took her months to arrange her own wedding with Harry between making decisions and getting all the different shops and things on the same page. How the woman did all this in two days, she would never be able to guess.

Granted, all the decisions were made quickly by the bride-to-be and that played a huge part in it, but actually putting it all together was a talent.

"Hermione, did you see the butterflies?" Ginny asked, peering through the blinds from the master bedroom where it overlooked the fenced backyard.

"Butterflies? She ordered _butterflies?_ "

Hermione shuffled over, nudging her to make room so she could see as well. She tugged at Ginny’s shoulder and pointed at the huge enchanted cages on either side of the white lattice arch that were filled with brilliantly colored butterflies flitting about. Even at a distance, she could see the color choices were deliberate and they matched the scheme of her bouquet with the reds, oranges, and yellows.

"GIN! There are **_butterflies!_ ** _"_

Ginny laughed at the childlike glee on Hermione’s face.

"I take it 'butterflies' weren't on your list of needs for the decorations?"

Hermione shook her head in response, still mostly concentrated on looking through the blinds. She'd been taking breaks from their joint task of working her curls into a sleeker, more manageable mess to watch the simple venue come alive with Narcissa's efforts.

A wood paneled floor was magicked into existence near the back patio area, along with her little Muggle stereo system to be used with the makeshift dance floor. Hermione spent some time setting it up in the most basic way possible before Ginny arrived. She hoped Harry would volunteer to help operate it, since the majority of people attending would likely have no clue how to do so even if they wanted to.

As for guests, the attending count was small but unsurprising for how little notice they were able to provide. The few chairs needed were set up in rows, spanning from one side of the yard to the other while Hermione and Draco’s respective sides were divided by a white runner stretching from the edge of the dance floor to the simple podium beneath an archway wreathed in flowers: clusters of lilies and wildflowers to be precise.

Hermione’s chosen arrangements extended into all edges of the backyard, too. The vibrant shades of red, orange, and gold lined the fencing and accented the swags on the reception tables and the ends of each row of chairs. They even hung around the torch bases of the citronella candles she'd insisted on having so nobody was devoured alive by miscreant mosquitos throughout the day--there might have been a spell to ward against that, but she would take no chances.

Hermione glanced around the yard grinning when she saw the bench swing tucked under the single large tree within the fenced area of the property also covered in flowers and delicate looking vines. Above it, a banner sporting both Hermione and Draco’s names in an elegant, glittering script hung, draped across the swing’s canopy.

There was no doubt: Narcissa was brilliant.

Hermione couldn't imagine the witch had any degree of fondness for her, though in truth their exchanges had been seldom and brief. If she were to think about it, she had no idea what Narcissa thought of her. Fortunately, for her, she really didn't _care_ about the woman's opinion of her marrying her son, but she wouldn't deny some curiosity.

As it was, she doubted any of these accomplished decorating feats were because of favor to her as much as to Draco or simply another way for her to indulge in her hobbies and illustrate her talents and wealth.

Whatever the reason, it was gorgeous and she owed her a world of thanks for bringing it all to life.

Thinking about it too long made her wish again that her parents could see, but before she could fall too far into that hole of thoughts, she felt a warm hand at her back and looked over to see Ginny.

Hermione startled then flashed her an embarrassed look, having forgotten she was there.

"Hey." Ginny smiled softly. "Let's finish up with your hair, okay? Then we can do the easy part."

Hermione huffed playfully at Ginny's teasing.

"You sound like Malfoy. Trying to say it's a mess?"

Ginny chuckled, leading her back to the chair set up at the edge of the bed in the middle of her 'hair taming' station.

"It's not a mess! It just wants to do what it wants to do...like its owner. C'mon now, in the chair! You wanted these a bit looser, right? We've still got a ways to go if so!"

Hermione allowed herself to be nudged back into the torture chair by her friend, all the while looking longingly at the window to try and get a better look at everything. Ginny went back to massaging in an array of hair potions and tonics into her scalp and locks, occasionally tugging on a knot or two with a wide toothed comb.

"Gin?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we move the chair closer to the window?"

"No."

"But you don't really need to be in the middle of the room for this--"

"Good Godric, woman, will you focus?"

"Sorry!"

 

* * *

Draco's hand snuck out smoothly from his side, intent on snatching a tasty looking watercress sandwich atop a whole platter of them on his kitchen island.

He was sure nobody would notice just one gone, maybe two. They were small after all.

His fingers were nearly there. Moments from making contact with the soft looking crustless bread when another hand, just as pale as his own, snapped out to rap him on the knuckles.

"Those aren't for you."

Where his mother came from, he had no clue.

He snatched back his hand and massaged away the harsh sting of her slap.

"Afternoon, mother. I thought you were still outside, directing the decorating party."

"As was evident by you trying to steal the sandwiches for the guests."

Draco sighed and sat himself on the stool at the island. He was dressed and ready and bored out of his mind.

"Why are we serving them before the ceremony? I was under the impression they were always served to the guests after," he grumbled, more due to being stifled by his mother than anything else.

"Because those guests will be arriving any moment now with nothing to do until the ceremony begins. We have to keep them entertained and food is the most universal way."

"Who bloody cares if they're entertained?" Draco muttered under his breath, trying not to stare at the sandwiches still nearby and taunting him.

"Draco!"

He shot upright at his mother's stern address again.

Narcissa reappeared in front of him, sliding something towards him on the countertop.

"You need to give this to Miss Granger."

Draco blinked down at the object revealed as his mother's hand moved away. It was an elegant looking silver pendant of the family crest that hung from a thin, satiny black ribbon. He recognized it as one of his mother's jewelry pieces she would wear on occasion to this gala or that ball. Draco plucked it from its spot, turning it about in his hand before looking to Narcissa again.

"You're giving this to Granger? I thought you liked this one."

The witch scoffed. "Giving? Hardly. It's for her to borrow for the wedding."

Draco frowned at the concept.

The likelihood his fiancée would wear Malfoy jewels, was slim to none. She'd already refused to wear the family ring per their contract. He was doubtful she’d even consider wearing this, even if it were only for some few hours.

Draco pursed his lips thoughtfully, searching for an easy out and said, "She's not really one for tradition, mother. I don't know that she'll be interested."

Narcissa looked affronted.

"This is one of the most important ones! She can't go down the aisle without it." The witch counted off on the fingers of one hand. "Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, and a Sickle in her shoe!"

If he ever wondered where he got his penchant for traditions, he would need look no further.

Draco looked down to the pendant again and then back to his mother who was so visibly dismayed at the thought his bride wouldn't be adhering to this tradition all he could do was just breathe out a labored sigh.

"I'll give it to her if you won't."

"No!" He surprised himself at his volume and repeated himself more softly, "No...mother. Somehow I don't believe you showing up at the bedroom door will do much for her nerves--no offense."

Narcissa's brow drew upwards skeptically.

"I don't know much about Miss Granger, dear, as you've been so secretive about her until two days ago. Only what I've read in the papers. She doesn't seem the type to get nervous."

"Maybe not..."

Draco rolled the necklace around in his hand, not looking up to see his mother’s expression. _He_ wasn't the type to get nervous anymore, either, but the closer the hour of truth came, the more unsettled he grew.

He’d done his best to make things as predictable and _non-_ nerve-racking as possible. In this way his contract served two purposes: it freed them specifically of having a child together and it set very clean expectations in each other's behavior after their union. All that aside, there was still a great deal of unpredictability that lingered.

A part of him knew if the woman due to meet him at the end of the aisle were anyone aside from Hermione Granger, his empty stomach wouldn’t be flipping as much as it was.

_Merlin, he really wished he’d snagged one of those sandwiches._

The thought of Hermione Granger as his bride, now that the minutes were counting down, had him sweating.

Sure, Draco grew up alongside the woman, but this was a leg of a journey he’d not been looking forward to embarking on himself, much less with her. Over the scant few weeks they’d had to reconcile their differences, he was certainly less opposed to it than he’d been with to start, but mountains don’t move in a day!

The fleeting thought of her surprising him with her early morning visit to his office, her hand curled around his cheek and her thumb stroking across the pad of his lip while those big brown eyes of hers glittered with mirth for the first time in weeks sent his gut into a somersault.

Following on its heels was the memory of the taste of her lip gloss and beyond that, the traitorous pondering over if she fancied any other flavors or if sugary vanilla cream was what she always tasted like.

Draco swallowed, tugging at the constricting band of his collar and tie.

These things were **_NOT_ ** normal.

They were not typical Malfoy-Granger interactions.

All these things, along with the way her small form pressed to his in their closet that morning brought light to just how much uncertainty lay in what he was about to do--in what _they_ were about to do. Even though he knew she was a woman, _he_ had never thought of her as such.

Hermione Granger was just... _Granger._

With the impending ceremony and his task for the evening to 'seal the deal', he knew he needed to start thinking of her as such; his concern was that at some point, he already _had_.

The sound of the Floo drew Draco from his thoughts. His mother apparently had excused herself at some point in the middle of his thinking and it was just as well. Turning to the hearth, he was relieved when a trio of familiar faces stepped through the fireplace instead of any of Hermione’s lot. Stealing one last glance at his mother’s pendant, Draco closed his hand around it and pushed off to greet his guests.

Three figures stood waiting.

One was a light skinned, dark haired wizard in a stunning set of black and white robes, perfectly fitted to his moderate height and slim build. The second, a tall, dark skinned man with equally expensive robes, his with a small flower pinned to his lapel. And the third was a woman with skin pale enough to rival his own and a long blond fall of wavy hair with an array of decorative _everything_ in it. The woman was looking about the room dreamily clad in a brightly colored yellow and orange sundress with flowers of all sorts printed on her skirt.

"Well, well, well. Looking so dapper there, I hardly recognized you, ya tosser!” The dark haired man reached out to clasp arms with Draco. “Good hunting, mate. Word on the street is you bagged yourself a lion."

"Theo, good to see you." Draco grinned, tugging him in for a half hug and clapping him on the back. Turning to the other two, he greeted them with equal warmth. "Loon—er...Lovegood, Blaise, good of you to come."

Luna waved airily at Draco, her other arm tucked around one of Blaise's.

"It's Zabini, technically,” she said. “Thank you for the invitation. It's always nice to see what my friends are up to. I don't get out much."

Theo grinned at the witch’s wispy expression and dreamy smile while Draco blinked. They both glanced to Blaise who shrugged.

There was a brief moment of guilt that crept into Draco's mind at the fact he’d apparently missed his friends' weddings – both Theo's and Blaise's - even though he didn't recall getting an invitation for either.

Thankfully, that particular round of guilt was fleeting.

"Right...well..." Draco raised an eyebrow at Luna but shook his head and pressed on. "I'm sure Granger will be pleased you've made it."

"Speaking of, where is the old ball and chain?" Blaise followed Draco and guided his own witch further into the room towards the large kitchen.

"Getting ready with the She-Potter." He looked at Luna who was smiling faintly but still looking about the room and taking in the new scenery. "In fact, _Luna_ \--" Her actual name tasted funny on his tongue. "--I've got something to give her but the last time I went up there, I got threatened for coming near the work in progress. Can you take this to her? My mother requested she wear it for the ceremony. The bedroom is upstairs at the end of the hall."

Draco presented the Malfoy pendant to her, her blue eyes finally coming back around to rest on the jewelry. Luna reached out, delicately cupping the piece in her hand to examine it before she nodded and he let the necklace drop into her palm.

"What's that for?" Theo asked, peeking over Draco's shoulder, a half-eaten sandwich lodged in one of his cheeks like some kind of rodent.

Draco glared at his friend who was stuffing his face with the snacks he’d set his eyes on all morning and snatched the rest of his sandwich away.

"Something borrowed," he said pointedly and bit into the remainder of Theo's snack.

"You Malfoys are something else with that rubbish." Blaise rolled his eyes.

The statement earned _him_ a glare as well but Blaise was impervious to its effects after all these years.

Instead, Blaise turned to his wife and pulled something from his inner pocket, handing it to her to deliver with the Malfoy pendant. She smiled sweetly at him, nodded, and leaned up on her toes to pull Blaise into a kiss.

Theo continued chewing his newly acquired sandwich while Draco nearly choked on his pilfered half of the old.

They both watched the couple embrace, Blaise’s arms wrapping around Luna’s waist with his hands resting at her back to support her on her toes. Her arms looped around his neck, her jaw working subtly as they shared a kiss that wasn't _quite_ lewd but certainly more than cordial in the presence of others. Once it was over, Draco saw Blaise grin down at her, give her a peck on her nose, and send her on her way.

After the woman disappeared from sight, he turned back to see Draco staring at him, jaw hanging open slightly.

"What?" Blaise snapped. "Has it been so long since you've seen a good snog?"

Draco blinked once. Twice. Several more times. He shook his head quickly, as if trying to rid himself of the images that were just burned into his brain.

"You and Loony...I don't think I'll ever get used to _that_ match up."

Blaise walked by Draco to get himself one of the snacks on the tray behind him, making sure to shove his shoulder quite firmly as he passed.

"Because you and Granger are a match made in heaven."

"More like in Hades," Theo quipped merrily, mouth partially full again. "I dunno, Draco. Lovegood must be a kicker in the sheets to have Zabini grinning like that. Who knew all it would take to tame the beast was one crazy bint?"

Blaise swiped the other sandwich Theo was fixing to shovel into his mouth – the man acted like he never got fed – and fixed him with an evil glare.

"Luna's not crazy, Nott. Say it again and you're going to have trouble eating around the teeth I've knocked from your head."

Theo held up his hands in a placating gesture but the quirk to the edge of his mouth made it obvious that he wasn't concerned over the threat.

"Sorry, sorry, won't happen again."

"So... you and _her_ ,” Draco started, Blaise's glare turned cautious when it refocused on him, his curiosity was getting the better of him. "Were you two actually dating before this whole...marriage thing happened?"

Blaise eyed the sandwich he still held, frowning at Theo's bite marks before tossing it aside and getting himself a fresh one.

“No. She's not really my type, now is she?"

"I wasn't aware you had a type. Last I remember, you had yourself a taste for everything. And _did_ have yourself a taste of everything."

Blaise shrugged again at Draco's comment.

"I suppose at some point we all have to grow up. We got our letters, same as you, we sat down to discuss everything after our meeting with the caseworker and actually..." He struggled with the next words, brow puckered and mouth set in a thin line, like he still had trouble saying it aloud, "Actually found we had quite a bit in common."

"You and Loony,” Draco said flatly, the disbelief clear on his face.

"Her name is **_Luna_ **."

Blaise's stern correction caught him off guard. His best mate wasn't usually one to get so perturbed by his casual manner and jokes, but the way his shoulders tensed each time he took a subtle jab at the crazy woman, he suspected she really had her hooks in him. Draco never thought he'd see the day.

"I'm done talking about this," Blaise snapped and allowed a sneer to curl his lips. "It is _your_ big day after all. You getting cold feet yet in preparation for your big night? Is that why you're so curious about our love life? Need some pointers?"

It was Draco's turn to glare. Theo didn't know about Hermione’s...choices and he didn't appreciate the unspoken threat to share her secret to their less than socially graceful friend.

“I assure you I'm perfectly capable of performing without any of your damning advice to ruin the evening."

"You sure? Maybe we can get in touch with Pans still and she can give you some feedback on how you did it for her."

"Zabini, I encourage you to watch your mouth."

"And I insist you think more about what comes from yours before you open it. Unless you want a very naïve Gryffindor to be privy to one of our last conversations."

Draco's eyes narrowed and a silent understanding passed between him and Blaise.

His warning was clear: _Don't fuck with my witch and I won't fuck with yours._

With a grunt, Draco nodded and pushed away from his perch near the island.

“I'm going to check on mother. Help yourself to more food.” He stalked off grumbling.

Theo's eyes had been darting between the two during whatever the hell just happened as he munched happily on his fifth little sandwich.

"What was that all about?"

Blaise shook his head, making to follow after Draco.

"Just eat your fucking sandwich, Nott."


	14. Chapter 14

Ginny was working on the last of Hermione's curls, finally having eased the spring in them so they fell more languidly instead of frizzing around her head. It wasn't a moment too soon either with only a couple hours left before she was due to walk the aisle. Her present struggle was working on pulling Hermione’s thick mass of hair back to anchor it with a plethora of pins at a point high on the back of her head. So far, Ginny succeeded in at least working half of it to where it needed to be but that didn't keep the growl from slipping free at the sound of a knock.

"MALFOY! I TOLD YOU WE'LL BE READY WHEN WE'RE FUCKING READY!"

Hermione winced at the yell so close to her head but she still picked out something on the other side of the door past the ringing in her ears.

She reached back to still Ginny’s hands and asked, "Did you hear that?"

"Yes," Ginny grumbled, returning to her task. "Doesn't he get that this is a _process?_ "

"No Gin, that wasn't Malfoy." A soft, muffled noise sounded again. "There! There it is again!"

The redhead frowned but listened harder and only then did she hear a very non-Malfoy sound. Pinning the rest of the cluster she was working on, Ginny whispered some sticking charms in hopes they would stay and hurried to the bedroom door. Opening it cautiously and making sure Hermione wasn't in line of sight, Ginny’s face lit up when her eyes came to rest on the slim, brightly clad figure of Luna.

"Luna! Oh, my goodness! I haven't seen you in ages!" Ginny gave the woman only a second to acknowledge her existence before she grappled her into a tight hug.

Luna smiled gently, arms coming up to give the other girl a firm squeeze.

"Hello Ginny, it's good to see you as well. I've read about you in Seeker Weekly a bit, you seem to be doing well." The blond witch peeked around Ginny and gave Hermione a small wave. "Hello Hermione. Congratulations on your wedding."

Hermione grinned at Luna's appearance, so happy to have her there, even if she was a bit eccentric. She found it grew on her after a while and in light of everything she wanted to be surrounded with as much of a sense of familiarity as was possible – even if it was eccentric familiarity. Hermione started to move to greet her friend but was shot a murderous look by Ginny, clearly unhappy at the prospect of her ruining the styling before it was completely secured. She sat back in her seat and waved to Luna instead.

"Thank you, and thank you for coming. I know we haven't spoken much recently, but I'm happy you were able to make it."

Ginny held Luna at arm's length, looking her over with a warm and welcoming smile very reminiscent of her mother's until she realized they were loitering in the doorway.  She tugged Luna inside the rest of the way and closed and locked the door behind them.

"How are you doing, Luna? How is your father?" asked Ginny.

Luna examined the room with that same gentle smile on her face she almost always had and said, "Dead."

The redhead stiffened and blanched. "O-oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Oh, that's alright," Luna said soothingly, making her way to stand near Hermione. "It was very sudden and unexpected and there was nothing anyone could have done."

Hermione looked to Ginny and back to Luna nervously, having forgotten _just_ how awkward some of the moments with the girl could be.

"I'm—ah, I’m sorry for your loss,” Hermione said at last.

"Thank you,” Luna said and retrieved a silky white pouch from her handbag to present it to Hermione. "It reminds me, though, Draco sent me with something from his mother for you. Blaise as well.” She paused in thought and added, “Blaise’s thing isn’t from his mother.”

Hermione accepted the bag, staring blankly until she noted the unmistakable heft and sound of jewelry. Too many days of dealing with cursed jewelry had her dumping the contents onto the coverlet behind her where a silver pendant and a platinum band toppled free.

"What are these?" she asked even as she tried to lean down closer, earning an angry tutting noise from Ginny who scrambled over to guard her hairdo.

Luna plucked the jewelry up and moved to take a seat on the edge of the bed near Hermione, smoothing her skirts and holding them up for closer inspection. Shaking herself from her habit, Hermione retrieved them from Luna’s palm.

“The pendant is ‘something borrowed’ and the ring is from Blaise. It's Draco's. For the ceremony."

"What was Blaise doing with it?" Ginny asked, starting the work on Hermione’s hair again while the three of them chatted.

"He's Draco's best man. We picked up the ring from the jeweler's yesterday."

"What were you doing with Blaise?" The second question came from Hermione.

"Oh, we're married."

 **_"You're what?!"_ ** Ginny and Hermione gaped.

Luna watched the comb Ginny was holding clatter to the floor and casually bent to retrieve it, as though the other witches weren’t staring with their jaws hanging open at the news.

"We're married,” she repeated and held out her left hand to show off a gold band with a comically large diamond sitting atop it.

"Merlin's _PANTS_ look at that rock!" Ginny came forward, pulling Luna’s hand into her own to get a closer look at the gem. It was easily three times the size of the diamond on her own band, which was nothing to shake a wand at.

"W-when did this happen?" Hermione stared at Luna, mortified at the fact that she had no idea they were even together.

Luna offered the comb back to Ginny after she was done inspecting her ring, folding both hands in her lap. Her legs swung lazily off the edge of the mattress and she looked thoughtful.

"Seven days ago, as of today."

Hermione gasped.

"A week? This happened _last week?!_ Luna, I'm so sorry! I'm an awful friend. I've been so immersed in all of this bloody nonsense that I didn't even think of anyone else!"

"Oh, don't be." She smiled reassuringly and patted Hermione's hand. "It was a small thing really. We just went to the courts. There’s been a great deal going on with everyone recently, you know. We decided to save any kind of ceremony for later. We may renew our vows with one after his mother gets back from Italy."

The bed dipped when Ginny plopped down next to Luna, taking a break from Hermione’s hair, frowning.

“You would do the whole thing again with Zabini? Wasn't he some kind of...well, I know what I heard in school..."

"That he had lots of sex?"

Color the shade of Ginny's hair flooded into her cheeks and she stared openly at the little blond witch next to her.

"Y-yeah...that's the one."

"That’s true. He did. He still does, as a matter of fact, but only with me now."

Hermione's felt her own heat of embarrassment creeping into her face. Luna spoke about it so casually. She was almost jealous of the ability to be so frank and carefree at the same time.

Ginny sputtered. Her mouth opened and closed several times trying to formulate words, but the only things coming out were garbled sounds of disbelief. Normally not one to shy away from juicy gossip, the specific subject matter of Blaise and Luna's bedroom habits knocked her totally off her feet.

Luna was still swinging her feet and she focused with great interest on the sparkling polish she could see on her toes. "The other rumors were true, also. He's quite good."

A strangled gurgle came from Ginny and Luna finally glanced up from beneath her lashes to catch Hermione's eyes, flashing her a small, mischievous grin when she did. A world of tension that she didn't know she was holding in her shoulders blew out of Hermione in the form of a body shaking laugh. Hermione laughed so loudly at both of them, anyone passing by might’ve thought she was crazy.

Luna was always full of surprises.

Eyes still sparkling with mirth, Hermione reached over to squeeze Luna’s hand and said, "Thank you." Whether she meant it for the delivery or the levity far too absent in most of her days, she left up to interpretation.

Luna squeezed back and nodded to the necklace. "Are you going to wear it?"

"I'd really rather not,” she said, frowning and leaning back in her chair.

Picking the pendant up by the ribbon, she eyed the elegantly formed _"M"_ in its center. She already had other plans for her jewelry once they were done with this hair business and the Malfoy family crest played absolutely zero part in it. Hermione only planned to uphold a few traditions, the rest were just...not an option.

_"Hermione! Your hand!"_

Ginny's screech startled her and Hermione’s attention darted from the Malfoy crest to the band still resting in her palm.

It took only seconds to see what she was pointing at.

The otherwise unremarkable platinum ring was glowing softly, the metal that heated against her skin was now glittering with a magical inscription. She brought the thing closer to inspect the light moving subtly over the delicate cursive in slow, easy rounds. It moved enough to draw the eye but not be overly obnoxious for the wearer or anyone in their present company. The effect was surprisingly tasteful, although when Hermione's eyes made out the inscription they first widened in interest and subsequently narrowed in disgust.

"What does it say?" Ginny came around to peek.

" _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper."_ The words came out in a hiss.

"Sanctimonia...where have I heard that before?"

" _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,"_ Luna repeated the words evenly. "Purity will always conquer."

"It's the Malfoy family motto," Hermione nearly growled, glaring hard at the band pinched between her fingers.

This was Draco's ring, so she couldn't say she was horribly surprised he would include such a foul inscription on his wedding band, but she had a sneaking suspicion he hadn't ordered it for just the one. She didn't think to ask him much about the wedding bands after he'd presented her with her engagement stone. In fact, if she really thought of it, he did well down playing the jewelry on the few occasions that she actually _did_ ask prior to them agreeing to the more formal ceremony.

"Purity,” Ginny said, her own distaste clear in the single word. "And here I thought the git was finally growing some fucking sense. Oh! Hermione, you don't think he--"

"Luna, do you remember seeing the other ring when you were with Blaise to pick them up?" Hermione asked quickly, clamping her hand shut around the offensive inscription.

The blond witch tilted her head to one side, rifling through her thoughts.

"Not then, but I did see a bit of it when he was checking which to have me take to you."

"And were they the same from what you recall?"

"I should think so." Luna shrugged and tilted her head to the other side. "I don't know if the other has an inscription as well, but it would stand to reason it did. I think most traditional wedding bands come in sets like that."

The way she spoke wasn't meant to incite Hermione, just deliver the facts, but her mood was very quickly dissolving into a dangerous one.

Hermione glared down at her closed fist.

How could she have forgotten the kind of man she was dealing with? No wonder he went through such extravagant efforts for her engagement ring. She even admitted to him she thought he was up to something, she just got caught up in his less-than-huge-slimy-git act and forgot that he was still a snake!

It was all a ploy to distract her, to...to **_what_** _?_ To get in her good graces? To make her trust him? It wasn't enough that they had to go through this in the first place, but he, of all people felt the need to trick her as well. It was in that instant, Hermione realized after all her careful wall building and avoidance, she actually _had_ started to trust him.

What an idiot she had been.

All her insecurities came bubbling to the surface in a roiling boil and she started plugging explanations to Draco's actions and attitude over the past few weeks – some of them more off the wall than others.

All of them made her feel like a fool.

The way his teasing had changed from the derogatory insults to almost charming--extracting grins from her she couldn't stop and almost enjoyed. His subtle smiles that set her stomach fluttering and had him looking far more appealing than the constant sourness that used to plague his features in her presence.

Then there was the way he looked at her in his office days ago, gray eyes filled with drowsiness one second and the next wide and alert and taking her in – _all of her_ – in a way she never dreamed would come from the blond boy that’d made her school life a living hell.

Luna's hand came out again to squeeze gently over top of Hermione's clenched fist, disrupting her thoughts.

She spoke softly, an attempt to ease Hermione’s mounting embarrassment and rage. "The rings were at the jeweler's a while. They were ordered a couple of weeks ago, from what I gathered."

Hermione ignored her words at first, that heat of fury at being made to look like a fool, blinding her, but Luna squeezed her hand again. Only then did she allow herself to calm and she locked eyes with Luna.

There was a gentle, if not beseeching, look there.

And something else.

There was a secret floating in her irises.

At first, Hermione felt the rage flare again at the idea the woman was hiding something from her, but she urged herself to reason once again – Luna would never approach her with malicious intent; if there was anything certain in this world, it was that.

A couple of weeks ago, she and Draco were still actively at each other's throats. There had been no amicable meetings, no pleasant exchanges, no understandings spoken or unspoken. There was a good chance that this petty retaliation at her contract demands happened before anything had begun to shift in their interactions. In fact, it _had_ to have happened before then...it had to have been before he presented her with the engagement ring, none of it would make sense otherwise.

Hermione blew out a concentrated breath, willing some of her anger to go with it. Even though she was sure this was the case, it didn't stop the stifling pressure in her chest from its slow budding ache.

"Hermione?" Ginny placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

She turned her eyes up to Ginny’s concerned face, the muscles of her jaw ticking with the way she was grinding her teeth together and trying to focus on her breathing. Taking another deep breath in and out, she exhaled more of the tension from her shoulders before nodding. She didn't realize how hard she was clenching her fist around the ring until she opened it again and felt the telltale sting of where her nails had bitten into flesh.

When she saw the faintly glowing inscription again, instead of her rage flaring, she felt a deep seated feeling of disappointment.

She wasn't sure why it bothered her so much. She _did_ start this whole thing understanding exactly who and what Draco Malfoy was. In her head, Hermione realized that she couldn't truthfully be upset with him. This was something she would normally have expected from him. It was a technicality.

It was _always_ a technicality with him.

She'd explicitly stated she wouldn't wear the Malfoy heirloom with such trash on it, she never specified she didn't want it on her person, period. She'd failed to take the proper precautions in her wording and as such, he capitalized on it in the way he always did, as if to show he was just that much smarter than she.

It was something typical of the way their dysfunctional relationship, _functioned._

Somehow, though, over the last couple of weeks, she'd entered into a strange, begrudging kind of partnership with him in the fate neither of them desired. They were reluctant compatriots in a way. She’d started to see them both on the same level in the midst of all this tension and chaos...and with that realization she found she expected more from him.

She was disappointed in his old ways.

She was disappointed that the symbolism he was presenting her with was evidently still alive and well with his beliefs.

She was disappointed that she noticed.

She was disappointed that she _cared_.

Hermione sat silently for uncounted moments, staring at Draco's band in one hand and her color shifting stone decorating the other. The depression she'd been battling over this all, that sadness that he – of all people – had actually been helping her fight with his distractions and familiar banter, tried to come rolling back in.

She felt Ginny's hand at her back, rubbing circles now between her shoulder blades and occasionally catching a cluster of her beautifully half-done curls with a tug. Hermione knew in her head the concern in her expression had moved on to that piteous stare she was so sick of seeing and she grit her teeth against it.

She was not a victim.

Hermione Granger was not a pitiful witch that deserved the sad puppy eyes that she caught the people around her giving her each day.

First, it was because of an unfortunate career choice.

Then, as more of her friends caught wind, it was because of her parents.

Next, it was Ron.

Following that, eyes stared at her, all judging or sympathetic to her name being a near permanent fixture on the sleazy tabloids' front page.

And now? _Now_ , it was because of her situation with Malfoy.

How was she to go on about her day normally with so many people looking at her like they did? In a way, she thought she'd found a twisted kind of solace in her unlikely companion, and now even that appeared to be wrong.

The witch surged to her feet, knocking the chair in the haste with which she stalked to the bedroom window. With Narcissa’s pendant clutched in one hand and Draco’s wedding band in the other, she peeked through the blinds, surveying the state of things outside.

From what she could see, the ceremony setup was done. The yard looked gorgeous and she could make out a handful of familiar outlines milling about on her side of the white runner.

Mrs. Malfoy was entertaining someone she couldn't make out and likely didn't know near one of the butterfly cages. Her eyes sought out and locked on to the picture of Blaise Zabini leaning over to the pale head of her soon-to-be husband discussing something in a very agitated fashion.

Even from here, Draco looked perfectly put together. She couldn't be sure, but in her heart of hearts, she knew there wasn't a hair out of place on his fool head and those smooth, finely tailored robes did nothing but flatter him in every way imaginable. Hermione even caught the glint of gold from his vest – he must have spelled it to match his tie.

It made her heart shudder and her stomach flip in the best and _worst_ of ways.

It was things like that, subtle things nobody else would know or think to notice beyond the two of them, that jarred her the most.

Hermione had a very hard time believing _this_ Draco and the spiteful little prat from roughly a month ago were one in the same. She looked into her hand holding the band again, lips in a tight line.

_‘People don't change that quickly…’_

Her eyes narrowed. "Ginny?”

"Yeah? What do you need, Hermione?"

Hermione frowned at how eager and careful the witch's voice was, she didn't need to see her to know what look she was giving.

"When is Harry due to arrive?"

"Um..." Ginny looked around the room until she spotted a Muggle clock on the bedside table and examined the green numbers. "Another half hour or so. He had some things needing to be taken care of at the office and should be getting ready at home by now. Why?"

"Can I ask you a favor?" Hermione turned back to stare at Ginny, schooling the expression on her face into one that was hard and stoic and impenetrable.

Ginny glanced to Luna nervously, but the woman was just observing and giving nothing away as to what she was thinking.

"Sure, anything. What do you need?" Ginny asked again.

Hermione walked to the closest side table, resting the jewelry on its surface and rifling around through the drawer and the few things inside until she was able to procure a pen and scrap of parchment. She took the moment to scribble several words down before walking it and Draco's wedding ring over to Ginny and offering both to her.

"I need you to get Harry, tell him to go here and ask for Oliver." She pointed to a place listed on the paper. "The instructions are here.” She pointed again. "This has to be back in two hours and all charges can be billed directly to my account. I authorize my payment in full and up front."

Ginny took both items, eyes scanning over Hermione's delicate scribbles, her mouth slowly curving upwards into a wicked grin.

"Alright, consider it done. But what about your hair? And makeup!"

"I'll do it."

The two witches' heads whipped in the direction of the bed, having forgotten all about Luna who was now standing, skirt swishing with the subtle twisting pivot of her hips and a patient smile on her face.

 

* * *

 

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck, _fuck._ "

Draco reached a hand towards his hair, intent on either ripping some out or combing a hand through it - he wasn’t sure which - when Blaise smacked it away for the billionth time, guarding the carefully done groom’s ‘do.

Draco glowered but Blaise simply shrugged.

“Sorry mate,” Blaise said in the most unapologetic apology ever. “If I’d known you were planning on being a prick to your wife...well, I probably still would've had Luna take it to her. I just would've been more careful about letting _you_ know."

"Good to know.” Draco scrubbed at his face since his hair was off limits. “Why are you my best man again?"

"Because I'm the only one that would say yes." Blaise flashed him a winning smile and shrugged again. "It's not as though you could do anything about it now anyway. No sense in working yourself up over it."

"I'm _not_ working myself up," Draco growled but it quickly turned into something resembling more of a pathetic whine. "I can't believe I fucking forgot!"

"Maybe she won't see it until later? That'd give you some time to explain yourself. And really, how is she to know that hers matches anyway?"

Draco blinked incredulously.

"She's Hermione Granger. If she sees it, she'll work it out. She's bloody brilliant, or have you forgotten?"

Blaise raised an eyebrow at the casual compliment, wondering if the man even realized the slip.

"Even Granger has her moments of weakness, I suppose. All you can do is hope." He watched Draco’s stare go blank as though he were in his head trying to convince himself. Blaise grinned and added, "You also might want to guard your bollocks tonight, though. Just in case."

From the corner of his eye, Blaise saw a familiar mane of long blond hair and an obnoxiously bright mish-mash of colors. He blinked at the figure he recognized as his wife, watching her at the butterfly cage on the other side of the arch as she reached inside and collected a handful of small blue butterflies. As quickly as she came, she went, disappearing back into the house.

Draco's eyes cleared in time to also follow the form of Luna and her armful of dozing butterflies.

He leaned in towards Blaise and asked, "What’s she doing?"

The man shrugged yet again.

"Hell if I know. You just learn to go with it."


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione was staring.

She was staring so hard at her reflection in the floor length mirror and all the excitement for the ceremony, all the anger and disappointment she'd felt in Draco, all of it bled away until she was filled with something else she couldn't quite describe.

Regret?

Confusion?

Bitterness?

Maybe a combination of those things and more. Whatever it was, it all swirled together in the pit of her stomach, churning and mixing and being so overbearing that all that she could actually feel was numb.

It was either nothing or _everything_ all at once.

Hermione’s eyes traced over her reflection, admiring the beautiful hair and soft, subtle makeup look Luna helped to achieve. She lingered on the sight of Narcissa’s pendant, reaching up to fiddle with the jewelry piece. Even if she _was_ upset with Draco, she’d decided to wear it in acknowledgement and thanks for the work and efforts she put forth to put everything together--even if she knew it was more for the woman’s son than for her.

The thought of the necklace brought her back to the mess of traditions.

If the pendant was “something borrowed,” the dress “something new,” and -- bless her heart -- the magically sleep-induced butterflies Luna gathered from the cages outside to fashion into a crown for her hair were her “something blue,” it only left the “something old.”

The thing Hermione had been avoiding the most.

"Hermione, is this what you were looking for?" Luna’s voice broke the silence of the room.

Hermione swallowed, eyes still stuck to her reflection.

They didn't budge until Luna came further into her line of sight, offering her a square shaped, velvet jewelry box.

Hermione's stare shifted to eye the box warily, the case so obviously old and worn by the crushed pile and smudges of discolored splotches here and there. She took it with shaking hands, hoping Luna wouldn't notice and if she did, wouldn't mention it. Running her fingertips over the fuzzy lid, Hermione cracked it open, slowly, carefully, unaware of the fact she was holding her breath until the jewelry inside came into view.

The case's satin lining was threadbare and torn, but the earring card was still stiff and well intact. Hanging off the card was a pair of drop earrings in the shape of fluttering ladybugs. The metal was a pale gold, the imitation bugs were as well, and set into the shaped wings were cut rubies with a round black diamond for the head. At first glance, even with the small expense of the precious stones, they appeared little better than costume jewelry.

For Hermione, they were much more than that.

The earrings were a gift from her father to her mother, received on the day they found out her mother was pregnant. Hermione remembered the story of them from the very first time she thought to ask her father why he always called her "bug."

Her father loved giving gifts but always had trouble containing himself to keep from spoiling a surprise for any special occasion. The earrings were meant as part of an anniversary present -- her mother having such an odd fascination with the tiny bugs in general -- but when they went to the doctor and found out for sure that her mother was pregnant, he made it an excuse to give them to her early. It wasn't very romantic at the time, but it was so typically him. He’d used the moniker for her throughout the pregnancy, even after they agreed on her name.

Forever and always, Hermione was her father’s “little bug.”

The earrings were one of the last things she’d grabbed from her home before she _obliviated_ her parents and left with Ron and Harry during the war. At the time, she justified it by telling herself they were too emotionally charged and bound to her that seeing or touching them may have messed up her memory charm and revealed them before it was safe. She would just remove them from their sight and minds -- after all, why would you need to keep something from the celebration of the child you don't even remember having?

It was to keep them safe.

That was the story she told herself.

"They're lovely."

Hermione startled, eyes wide and red with unshed tears as she all at once remembered Luna's presence.

"Th-thank you." Hermione ran her fingers over the ladybugs, smiling ruefully. "They were my mother's. I suppose this would be something borrowed as well really but I don't ever plan to see her again so...so I won't be returning them."

The words were meant to be clever, a quip, but they came out to be nothing but resentful.

Luna moved to stand behind Hermione and peered over her bare shoulder to catch the other witch’s eyes in the mirror. She stroked a hand lightly over the loosened, cascading curls down Hermione’s back, her fingers tugging on them, testing the charms and watching them spring back into place.

"You can never be sure of these things. People that love you have a way of finding their way back."

Hermione scoffed, easing into her well-practiced role of pulling from her massive stores of knowledge as a means to distract herself from feeling... _everything_.

"I don't buy into wishful thinking, Luna. I've waited too long to get them back. The risks associated with a reversal of the charm only increase exponentially the longer it is between the initial onset of it and the attempt. The more new memories of false lives that have to be overridden with the truth, the more likely it is something will backfire. Plus, they’re already at a higher risk simply for being Muggles...so really...I’m sure. It’s...it’s best to let the past lie."

"Is that why you're doing this?"

"Doing what?" Hermione feigned ignorance, knowing full well what Luna was asking.

"Getting married like this?"

"Well I don't really have much of a choice _but_ to marry Malfoy--"

" _No_."

The one word was so stern that the delivery shocked Hermione into looking back up to meet Luna's stare in the looking glass. Those shiny blue eyes, normally so light and airy, were hard and focused on her face. Sometimes even Hermione forgot there was much more to this witch than she realized.

Luna's gaze softened again. "What are you doing, Hermione?"

The gentleness of the question made the lump in her throat grow and she did her best to swallow around it, ignoring the pressing sting in her eyes. Luna's slender arms wrapped around her shoulders in a cautious hug and Hermione's jaw clenched, biting back the tremble of her lip.

Today was the last she would think of them, the last that she would think of anything as it was ever _supposed_ to be. She would take from today what she could because tomorrow would be the start of a new life not her own.

She would take the day for herself because the next, the community she'd once been so happy to belong to will have taken everything else.

"I'm moving on,” Hermione said, her voice hollow.

Hermione watched her movements in her reflection, numb fingers tugging the earrings from their case and methodically putting one in, then the other.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, she took in the final, completed look and swallowed.

Summer-inspired accents of red and gold peppered the curve of her bodice and skirt of her dress complementing the glittering array of jewels magically fastened to the stretches of silk. Hermione’s dark chestnut brown hair stood starkly against the dress, adding decadence and richness to the picture with the stretch of spiral curls, finally tamed after hours of work to relax and fall down the length of her back. It was bold and eye catching, softened only by the dozing blue butterflies nestled among them and the brush of bronze over her skin, the gentle red-gold shades giving her an ethereal glow to rival any angel come to Earth.

Hermione accepted her bouquet of vibrant lilies Luna passed over and, with it, stopped breathing altogether.

"Oh my god! Hermione! You look _gorgeous!"_ Ginny gasped, rushing in from the hallway.

Hermione’s whole body turned sharply to the doorway, neither she nor Luna having noticed when Ginny returned. Although pleased to have Ginny’s presence back, as soon as the redhead cleared the doorway to fawn over her, Hermione’s gaze latched onto the man following closely behind with his lightly mussed head of dark hair and striking green eyes peering out from behind a pair of the most familiar round rimmed glasses.

"Harry!" Hermione brightened immediately, the sheer beauty of her smile lighting the room.

“Hermione,” Harry said, grinning back at her and closing the gap in a scant few steps. He drew her into a tight embrace, his cheek pressing to hers, and his arms giving her a firm squeeze. “You look amazing.”

Hermione’s smile strained and then faltered, falling away entirely when the emotions she’d been holding back came flooding to the surface.

Even in Harry’s fancy digs and gelled up hair, he smelled of ink, of parchment. He smelled of his office, his toothpaste, that funny cheap cologne he liked to wear whose scent always tickled her nose. Harry smelled of familiarity. Of home.

Of family.

Harry felt Hermione’s nails biting into his shoulders even through all the layers of dress robes. Her back and shoulders tensed beneath his palms and her chest pushed against his in a quick staccato as her breathing went shallow. His grin softened into something kinder and he gingerly moved her away, only far enough to catch sight of her face. Seeing the tears welling in her eyes, he swept his fingers beneath her lower lashes, carrying away the moisture before it had a chance to drop.

“That’ll mess up your makeup,” Harry said in a low, soothing tone, entirely unperturbed by their audience. “You want me to kill him for you? Seems like such a waste of the setting, but I suppose we could celebrate after the fact so none of the food goes off.”

Hermione choked out a laugh that sounded much closer to a sob and shook her head. A few tears slipped free and she nudged his hands away to dab at her eyes, embarrassed at the spectacle she was making. She’d accomplished all of nothing until Harry offered her his handkerchief and she blotted the tears as carefully as she could.

Hermione tested her throat a few times before she was able to speak, albeit shakily. “It’s fine. It’s not him. Not this time.”

Harry smirked, pulling a satin pouch from his pocket and shaking it.

"You sure? I dare say he might deserve it."

She chuckled and nodded, turning back to the mirror so she could more carefully dry her eyes.

"Yes. Though, thank you for reminding me of that...it actually put me in a much better mood thinking of what his expression will be when he receives it."

"I hope his eyes bug. I should have a camera ready for that."

"I'm sure they will. That vein in his head will likely pop, too."

" _Fantastic_...erm...Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Are those butterflies in your hair?"

"Yes."

"Are they...alive?"

“...yes."

"Where did you—oh. Hi, Luna."

"Hullo, Harry."

 

* * *

 

"You're fidgeting."

"I'm not, shut it."

Blaise grinned, watching Draco shift his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally reaching up to smooth his perfectly set bowtie or the edges of his vest and then clasp his hands in front of him. He did this a few times.

Shift, tie, vest, hands.

Shift, tie, vest, _hands_.

The announcement was made that the bride was ready to walk down the aisle and Narcissa rushed them into their spots along with the official from The Ministry. All the guests were seated and Draco was waiting beneath the archway with Blaise next to him, amusement plain on his face. Others watching might not be able to tell, but _he_ knew the man’s mannerisms like the back of his hand.

Draco was _nervous._

To be fair, Draco hadn't completely calmed himself after realizing he'd left the Malfoy inscription on Hermione's wedding band. He tried to logic himself out of his panic. Maybe she didn't notice or think anything of it. She certainly hadn't come to castrate him yet so he had hopes they at least wouldn't get into it in front of all of these people. He had little time to worry on it, however, as his circling thoughts were interrupted by tinny procession music playing abruptly from Hermione’s Muggle music device propped next to the patio doors.

Then it became time for his thoughts to whirl about something else entirely.

Draco’s stare latched onto the open doors where the first to emerge was Ginny. She held a small bouquet of wildflowers, hair down and straight, the red of it flowing into the Gryffindor red of the knee length dress she wore. It was a simple but elegant thing that flared at the hips, layers of sheer skirts fluttering in the gentle breeze of the afternoon, all anchored below her bust with a gold sash a shade darker than that of Draco’s vest and tie.

Ginny caught Draco's eyes halfway down the aisle and quirked a brow, though other than that, her look was carefully controlled -- so much so that the anxiety he'd been working through for the past hour reignited in an instant.

Their wedding party was small. Practically nonexistent, in fact. Hermione told him she didn't want to worry about coordinating much more beyond having her best friend there at her side. That being the case, Draco wasn't surprised when he saw Harry appear from the doors next to change the music to the bridal march. The wizard scurried back inside the house for a mere few moments to reemerge with the bride on his arm.

The moment he caught sight of her, Draco’s heart leapt into his throat and time seemed to stand still.

He knew she was due to appear. He’d been grumping and grousing about it all day and, obviously, once they received the announcement she was ready to walk, he knew to expect her.

But he was anything but prepared.

Hermione stepped in time with Harry at her side. One delicate satin clad foot peeked from beneath the edge of her dress and the glint of a coin tucked into the small brooch at the toe flashed in the sunlight before being masked again by the swish of her skirt.

Draco’s eyes swept up from there, following the reverse flow of the gown, vaguely comprehending its slim fit but more concentrated on the supple hourglass shape beneath the snowy white silk. Belatedly, he did notice the flared skirt of it, if only because of the magnificent pattern shifting and shimmering with each of Hermione’s steps.

True to form, Endora threw in her signature touch, morphing what could have been a plain and simple thing into a priceless work of art.

On its front, Draco made out what had to have been hundreds upon hundreds of tiny white pearls, all arranged into a picture of pure magnificence. The pearls stretched across the length of Hermione’s dress, forming the outline of a phoenix, its feathered wings and tail feathers sweeping and swirling among the drape and flow of her gown. They curved over the shape of Hermione’s body, down, around, and back, the phoenix’s tail fanning into that ever shifting flare of skirt.

Draco couldn’t help but trace the pattern with his eyes. He followed the tail feathers of the pearlized bird where they dissolved into a bed of flames, erupting from the hem of her skirt, changing from pearls into cuts of golden beads, yellow topaz, and rubies.

It was worth every Galleon spent and more.

In his timeless space of observation, Draco’s attention lingered on the dress hardly at all when faced with the beauty of _her._

The bared stretch of skin visible from behind the cluster of lilies in her hand drew his gaze up and up and up.

Up, beyond the magicked spirals of hair hanging to her hips and the lazy blue butterflies nestled among them languidly beating their tired wings.

Up, past where he glimpsed her opposite arm threaded through Harry Potter’s, her fingers digging harshly into the man’s bicep.

Up, above the flash of black where his mother’s pendant rested at her neck and a pair of ruby-studded ladybugs hung from her ears.

Up, to her lips, painted in a gloss he knew -- one he’d _tasted_ and could still remember on his tongue.

_Up._

To her dark eyes, lined with the barest smudge of kohl, her lids brushed in a gold that matched her dress, his tie, his vest.

Her eyes -- eyes that stared back and beckoned whether they meant to or not -- with tight lines around the edges as she barely masked the thoughts running rampant in her head.

Draco’s cheeks hurt and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out _why_.

That is, not until he caught sight again of those glossy lips twitching into a shy smile, returning the one he was broadcasting for all, far and wide, to see.

The enchanting vision of her face was stolen away by the bashful dip of her head and he felt his feet moving before he realized.

“Easy,” Blaise’s voice whispered low and near Draco’s ear, jolting the man out of his daze. “Wait ‘til they’ve reached the edge of the archway, stud.”

Draco breathed, likely for the first time since she set foot outside their house and realized Blaise was holding him back, a grip tight on one arm. Casting a glance around the grounds, he was relieved to see little to no one was paying him any mind at all -- all eyes were set on his bride.

Smoothing his bowtie and vest for the billionth time, Draco swallowed down his embarrassment and went to meet Harry at the proper spot. Harry disentangled his arm from Hermione’s grip, taking a step forward and extending his hand. Though he afforded it a skeptical look, Draco took it and they shook. Harry’s grip tightened, near to the point of strangulation and he pulled Draco into a half hug, leaning in to deliver a message only they could hear.

“Remember our first conversation, Malfoy,” Harry warned. “I meant every word.”

Draco jerked back, taking in the intensity in the green eyes staring hard into his while flexing his own grip to ward off Harry Potter's. One of his pale blond brows ticked upwards at the threat but he nodded, earning one in return before Harry released him and returned to Hermione. The two shared a set of whispered words and Harry gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek before finally guiding her hand into Draco’s.

Hermione and Draco’s eyes met for a second time on that elegant runner but this time she didn’t shy away.

It was almost, for just a _second,_ as though it were all real.

Draco led Hermione to the altar where she handed off her bouquet to Ginny, they both took their places, and the Ministry official began his drawn out speech.

That close, Draco could make out all the details in her eyes. Beyond the lining of kohl and the sweep of gold on her lids, he fell into the rich brown of her irises. He lost himself in the idle path he traced among the flecks of gold sparkling in them like the topaz on her dress.

It wasn’t until he felt the soft puff of her breath across the skin of his neck that his stare refocused onto her lips. He saw them moving, working to form a question for his ears only, but he’d missed it.

"What's that?" Draco asked in a whisper.

"I _said,_ if you stared any harder your eyes would pop clean out of your head," Hermione hissed. Her words were as snappy and smart as they always were, but he heard the waver that belied the state of her nerves.

He gave her his best smirk, keeping his voice as steady as he could to tease her. "I was just admiring the makeover, Granger. Who knew you clean up so well?"

It was his best and easiest evasive truth to date. There simply wasn't a word he _knew_ of to describe how beautiful she looked and that thought shook him down to his bones.

The snort she gave was unladylike but subtle enough and much of the tension bled from her shoulders. "You look shockingly close to a proper gentleman, yourself. Color _me_ surprised."

Anything he might've said was stifled by the official addressing them for their parts.

Their vows were simple and without decoration. The word “love” was never used once in the entire thing, giving only their promises to honor, provide for, and protect each other, to be bound by word and magic for the rest of their natural lives. The exchanging of bands as symbolism was a modern addition to the wizarding ceremony, but as soon as the time came, the lightheartedness in Draco fled.

Blaise retrieved the slender ring from his robes and dropped it into Draco's palm, giving him a pat on the shoulder and a look for a silent wish of good luck. Draco held the thing between his thumb and forefinger, doing his best to avoid touching it as much as possible to keep the magical inscription from blooming to life from his body heat. He exhaled a breath full of poorly concealed anxiousness and met Hermione's eyes, devoid of the earlier levity. She stared back at him, something else in her gaze now, too.

Her left hand came up, fingers splayed; she waited.

"Hermione,” Draco began, not liking at all the waver in the single word. “I give you this ring that you may wear it as a reminder, token, and symbol of my vows and promises to you on this day."

He watched with bated breath as he slid the band onto her finger, wishing for it to stay cool enough through the ceremony that she wouldn't notice until later. Perhaps it was karmic punishment that caused it to flare to life the instant his wishing reached its peak.

Draco watched a perfectly manicured brown brow lift and her head tilt to one side as she watched the lettering emerge. Her lips moved silently, mouthing the three damning words of his family's most sacred motto.

Hermione's eyes panned upwards oh-so-slowly, narrowing and a certain _something_ clicking into place, as though something murky had just become clear.

Her mouth strained into a hollow smile that sent a deep pang of guilt throughout his entire body.

"Draco,” said Hermione, “...you shouldn't have."

Draco had no time to reply when Ginny moved into their space, her presence always somehow carrying so much weight for such a small thing. She gave him the most discreet of glares and provided Hermione with the wedding band Luna delivered earlier.

As soon as Ginny moved from their space, Hermione's right hand clenched harshly around Draco's left wrist, sure to catch his gaze with a very perturbed one of her own, despite the smile she showcased -- more a baring of teeth than anything else.

" _Draco."_ Hermione slipped his band on firmly, so far back that it dug into the webbing between his fingers and she held it there. "I give _you_ this ring that you may wear it as a reminder, token, and symbol of my vows, promises, and _ideals_ spoken to you on this day."

Draco frowned at the profound addition to the speech, seeing that she'd yet to remove her hand from his. When she finally drew back, he looked down at his ring and glimpsed softly shining words that were entirely different from the ones on hers.

His brow furrowed, mouthing them much as she had hers. He rolled the Latin over in his head until he understood: _Virtue can only flourish amongst equals._

In some two hours or so, the witch had somehow altered the magical inscription on his wedding band -- it’d taken his jeweler a _week_ to do them initially!

His gaze snapped back to hers in astonishment but the official continued speaking before he could voice any of the million questions he had.

Draco couldn't help the wide-eyed look he was sending the witch whose smug expression was quickly fading to one of confusion at the lack of anger at her ‘stunt’. He was flipping through the possibilities of how she could've accomplished such a task in such a short time frame, all of them left him feeling more and more impressed with the cleverness and resourcefulness any of them would have required.

" _I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."_

Hermione blinked at him.

The reveal of her ploy did not go at all as she'd expected. Instead, they were just standing there with her blinking and him staring.

The silence was growing stifling very quickly and with it came a tide of embarrassment.

The official had told him to kiss her and he was just standing there, stock still, making no such move while all of their friends and his family watched on!

How ridiculous!

How embarrassing!

How absolutely fucking _awful!_

Hermione’s train of thought derailed when his hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip much in the same way hers had days ago. She felt his other hand curl around the dip of her waist, pausing before sliding down to the swell of her hip where he tugged her to him with surprising tenderness. He drew her close, so close, she had to slip her arms between them, draping over his shoulders lest they get crushed in their press of bodies.

He looked down at her with darkened stormy eyes.

Something in the air shifted and Hermione’s heart thudded against her ribcage. The mixture of feelings from before, good and bad, were driven from her head by the deafening rush of blood in her ears.

For the second time that day, it was all real: the wedding, the anticipation, that look in Draco’s eyes -- everything was _real._

She saw him leaning in, his face coming nearer until the act of watching would've made her eyes cross so she shut them instead. She felt his breath dance across her skin, the smell of spearmint making her belly flip once and then again when he tugged her impossibly closer still.

Hermione swallowed as he molded her to him and at the firmness of his body, lean muscled and solid.

Draco allowed himself one last indulgence of the face of the woman he -- not for the first time -- was certain he was improperly matched to.

“ _Brilliant_ , Granger. So bloody... _brilliant_...” he murmured in a cross between bewilderment and admiration.

Hermione frowned, unsure what was happening or what he was referring to and was about to open her eyes and ask when his lips finally pressed gently to her own.

_Soft..._

_...warm..._

_...wet._

The memory of his kiss to her knuckles the day he gave her her engagement band resurfaced, mingling with the new -- it was hardly a thought next to this.

Hermione hadn’t been kissed by a man like this since she and Ron broke it off.

In truth, she’d never been kissed by a man like this. _Ever._

His lips feathered over hers, careful but precise, like anything else he did. The confusion and frown she sported from moments before melted away under the heat of his skin on hers. Hermione’s head fuzzed as he warmed her to him, as he coaxed the tension from her body with the silky massage of his mouth on hers until her pursed lips parted with a sigh and her arms moved on their own to more properly encircle his neck.

Draco rumbled an approving sound when she fell more heavily against him. His hands roved, one moving from her cheek to dip into the curtain of her hair with its waterfall curls and butterflies wafting the scent of lilies into the air while his other shifted to her back. She was soft and pliant in his arms, heaven at his fingertips, and she tasted like sweet, sweet vanilla on his tongue. He groaned into her mouth, grip tightening where he held her and pressed her hips as close as he dared in front of a crowd.

The way he adjusted her along the length of his body made her shiver. Her chest brushing over his and that close, Hermione felt all of him, so lean and firm and hard. His days at the pitch, of training, of  _whatever_ it was he did in his free time felt so wonderful a whimper crawled free from her throat, dropping onto Draco's tongue before she could stop it. His hands clenched in her hair, at her hip.

For Draco, it took massive amounts of restraint not to snarl like some sort of savage at the forbidden flavor of this witch coating his senses, the flavor of Hermione Granger.

 _'Hermione Malfoy,'_ he thought with a swell of possessiveness in his chest.

Those fragile restraints pulled taut at the thought.

He growled, and, perhaps if she hadn't gasped so sweetly in response, closing the gap between their hips, those restraints would've held.

Draco let out another low growl, his tongue sweeping between her parted lips and finally tasting her properly after too many days of  _not._ She loosed a soft, barely there moan that he swallowed down, unwilling to share it with their spectators, and his hands moved on their own as if to stake their claim. The callused pads of his fingertips ran hot trails over the exposed skin of her back and shoulders, trailing long, searing paths along her arms, up and down until they had their fill and came to rest at her sides where they pressed with bruising pressure into her hipbones. His jaw worked as he led them in deepening the kiss, massaging the tip of her tongue with his, breaking only to tickle the inside of her lips and suckle the plump pad of the bottom one between his teeth to steal more of those wonderful noises. Every sweet sound of Hermione’s that reached his ears struck a chord that sent signals shooting straight to his groin and a very primitive part of his brain surfaced more and more with every delicious note. It was all he could do to keep his hips locked and straight.

A nagging voice in his head said he should release her, that the kiss was over and the situation was escalating beyond a point appropriate for a wedding--that it _had_ been for some time now. The mewl she breathed into his mouth tried its best to batter that voice back down and when the tips of her nails bit into the skin at the edge of his hairline, he knew it was now or never. Determined not to further sabotage their wedding as he did with her ring, Draco drew on all the strength in his being and with one great, heaping mass of effort, he pulled away.

As they parted, their noses brushed and Draco felt Hermione’s small hands moving from his hair to graze over the harsh angles of his cheekbones and the point of his jaw. Unlike in his office, when her fingers brushed his lips, this time, he _did_ kiss them and reached to stroke one of Hermione’s flushed cheeks.

Hermione's heart was in her ears; her head swam.

She felt Draco's hand tucking a cluster of curls behind one of her ears -- a fruitless effort -- and she reopened her eyes to see his glossy gray ones raking over her face. She fluttered her kohl-dark lashes until the rest of him came back into focus around that look that made her heart skip so foolishly. Hermione bit at her lip, the realization of having just thoroughly snogged the man to high heaven in front of an audience doing its best to fill her with a hefty dose of shame.

His lopsided, lazy smile -- once again coated in her gloss -- and the half-lidded expression he fixed on her, though, had her biting back a smile of her own.

However, as the pleasure of their kiss faded and allowed the both of them a moment to think, they realized two very crucial things -- the first a thing of relief and the second a thing of damnation.

First: they realized that crossing the physical barrier with the other wouldn't be _nearly_ as difficult as they feared.

And second: they realized that crossing the physical barrier with the other wouldn't be nearly as difficult as they feared...

 


	16. Chapter 16

Draco sipped at the golden liquid in his champagne flute, doing his very best to avoid staring at the people mingling about on the makeshift dance floor.

Mostly, he was avoiding staring at his new bride as she stood speaking with the surviving Weasley twin and his wife at the edge of the dance tiles as Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom fiddled with a stack of small square cases by Hermione's music machine.

Try as he might to look elsewhere, his wandering eyes kept drifting back. Hermione was deeply engaged in her conversation with the couple and Draco couldn’t help but notice that, aside from the fiery Maid of Honor, the man Hermione spoke with was the only other Weasley he could spot in the crowd. Having seen the guest list, he knew she’d invited them all. Granted, the invitations went out very late but Draco found it suspicious that so few of the family everyone in the wizarding community was sure Hermione would be drafted into had found the time to come.

 _‘How fair weather of them,’_ Draco thought, eyes narrowing on principle.

"So..."

His head snapped in the direction of his best man who toasted him with his own flute once he had his attention.

Draco grumbled, "What _now_ Blaise?"

Blaise took a long sip from his glass, never removing his eyes from the other man.

"Oh, nothing. I just couldn't help but notice you over here brooding instead of asking your gorgeous wife to the customary first dance." Another dark look was sent his way  when he complimented Hermione, much to Blaise’s amusement.

"I'm not brooding,” Draco hissed. “Secondly, there's no music. And _thirdly_ , I'm not fucking dancing."

Blaise leaned up against the table they were closest to, counting the times Draco's eyes went from pulling away from his new wife to zipping back to her again with no small degree of amusement.

“Whatever happened to ‘tradition’?" he asked.

Draco muttered, "I think we just broke all the bloody traditions in the book by going through with this."

"Oh, but _Drakey-poo_ \--" Blaise's grin only grew when his friend twitched at Pansy's old and most loathed nickname. "--you were _so_ adamant about your customs before. What happened to get your knickers all in a twist?"

When Draco responded only with another silent sip of his drink and avoided his stare, Blaise tilted his head and spoke more seriously, "Was it the kiss?"

Draco glared at the other wizard, busying himself with downing the rest of his glass and moving on to another.

Casually strolling behind Draco, waiting until he'd scooped up another flute, Blaise took him by the bicep and led him to a nice shaded spot behind the big tree in the yard. It was away and mostly out of sight of the other guests.

He gave a perfunctory glance around before saying, "It _was_ the kiss then."

"Do you ever _stop_ nosing?" Draco snarled, downing his second glass in one long pull.

"Not particularly, no." Blaise shrugged. "I mean, it looked good. It looked _very_ good, in fact." His grin leaned more toward a leer. " _Very_ enjoyable, I’d venture. Good thing she was rolled all in that gown and probably an unimaginable number of frilly layers under it or she might've had a run in with ‘Little Draco’. That snog was sizzlin', mate. I think you had all the women swooning with that one--and most of them hate you."

Draco clenched the stem of his glass so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"If you'll never refer to my prick again as 'Little Draco' -- or at _all_ \-- I would be _eternally_ grateful, Blaise. What’s more, it was just a kiss for the ceremony. Just for show, nothing else. And I honestly couldn't care less what any of her friends had to say or think about the whole bloody thing. I'm just glad it's finally fucking over." Heat crept into his neck and face and Draco added very quietly into his glass, "And there weren't _that_ many layers..."

She’d _most certainly_ felt him.

And she’d mewled.

It’d nearly sent him back to the stone age where all he wanted to do was hear her do it again.

And again.

_Ad infinitum._

Draco dashed the thoughts away before they could affect him...again.

"Oh?" Blaise brightened. "Do tell! Did you get a feel for what she _did_ have underneath, then? I imagine it'd have to be a dainty little thing with how snug that dress is. Maybe some fancy lingerie." He thought about it more to himself and shook his head. "Naw, with her it'd have to be more practical. Probably just some lacy knickers. At best? Lace thong."

Blaise’s speculation over Hermione’s underthings brought a twitch to one of Draco’s eyes and that heat intensified at his neck. He scowled and, although he’d also been speculating the very same thing since they walked away from the altar all shiny and part of their new union, the idea of Blaise pondering on his wife’s panties got his hackles up.

A growled threat was on the tip of his tongue, one hand poised and ready to jab Blaise a little too hard in the chest -- or possibly the jugular -- but was interrupted by a familiar voice that warred for second place in biggest and bossiest.

" _There_ you are!" Ginny huffed.

Draco greeted her with a grimace. "Potterette."

"Ferret," she responded and grabbed for his wrist, glaring when he reflexively jerked his arm out of her reach. "We can do this the easy way or we can do this the hard way. You only get a choice because it’s Hermione’s big day and she’d be mortified if I caused a scene."

Draco raised an eyebrow at her stubborn hands on hip stance very reminiscent of the Weasley Brood Mother.

"Do what?” he asked. “Do I get to know what you're attempting to make me do before we get into it on what is also _my_ wedding day, Red?"

" _Really?_ Are you that thick?” When Draco gave no impression he understood, she folded her arms and huffed a second time. “We're waiting on you for the dancing to start, ya git! Why do you think Harry and Neville have been fooling with that demon contraption of Hermione's for the last twenty minutes?"

Draco shrugged. "They got tired of consuming free food and drink I paid for?"

At her deepening glower, he rolled his eyes and pushed away from his spot near the tree.

The sooner they got this day over with, the sooner things could get back to normal.

Although, the quicker the afternoon progressed, the more prominent the thoughts of his and Hermione’s impending night together became.

He gulped but carried on.

Ginny watched with satisfaction as Draco shuffled his way back to the crowd of people, depositing his emptied glass on one of the tables as he went. She observed with a protective curiosity the moment he entered Hermione's space again.

Between Hermione’s worry over the event, her spike of vengeful anger about the rings, and all the way through the end of the ceremony to which, afterwards, Hermione tugged her aside and babbled incoherent, lust drunk words over the kiss, the woman had traveled a roller coaster of emotions. Ginny still didn’t wholly trust Draco, but on occasion -- most recent occasion, in fact -- he'd made several good points and provided too many less than selfish insights about her best friend to pretend there wasn’t something else happening there.

While she had no illusions about him being completely clean and free of his acts of manipulation and self-serving plots, he more and more frequently came through to act in ways that didn't fit into those boxes anymore. She’d been ready to string him up right alongside Hermione over the rings, but a brief chat with Blaise before he’d gone ahead of her to rile Draco up, had settled her understanding of the whole thing. With that, she felt both relief and more concern.

On the one hand, Draco Malfoy wasn’t as much of a prick as she wanted to believe, but still a prick.

On the other, her best friend was falling for him.

Ginny frowned.

It’d been a long time since she’d seen Hermione smile the way she did after she and Draco parted ways beyond the altar. And, in point of fact, she’d _never_ seen Draco Malfoy smile like he did when he saw Hermione walking down the aisle.

With a resigned sigh, Ginny knew the truth of her place in this all.

Whatever it was that was happening between those two, or whatever it was they wanted it to be, if it ever came to her needing to play a part in nudging the two most stubborn individuals she’d come to know, together, she’d be there. If it ever came to her simply needing to _be_ _there_ as an ear to talk about Draco Malfoy of all things, she would do it. Because, at the end of the day, she just wanted her friend to be happy.

Ginny would do whatever it took to get her there.

The sound of a throat clearing came from Ginny’s side, drawing her out of her thoughts. When she saw the one and only Blaise Zabini leaning oh-so-casually in the shade, nursing his free glass of champagne and looking at her with a charming smile she recalled from school, Ginny rolled her eyes.

“What are you looking at, Zabini?”

“Just admiring the view,” he purred.

“We _just_ spoke not more than five minutes ago.”

Blaise was nonplussed. “Just admiring the view _again_ , then.” He shrugged. “Not every day you get to behold the softer side of the famous Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies up close and personal.”

“Tosser,” Ginny snorted and started back towards the rest of the reception party. “How about you go admire your wife?"

Ginny nodded her head in the direction of the butterfly cages where Luna sat on a nearby patch of grass with several of the insects dozing comfortably in the woman’s hair or on her brightly colored sundress. Her shoes were discarded several metres away, one seemingly forgotten mid-stride and the other shucked off as an afterthought long before she decided on her present venture.

Blaise chuckled, raising his glass in a toast and downing the rest of his alcohol.

“Wonderful idea, Mrs. Potter. Enjoy your dancing,” he said, tucking the flute next to the trunk of the tree and strutting off to sit with his wife.

 

* * *

 

 "So,” Hermione drawled. “The great Malfoy appears." She did her best to be casually mocking about him finally coming to join her, but her pulse had other ideas.

Hermione had been watching him from afar, his pale shock of hair and skin impossible to miss even among the small crowd of people and she’d been tracking his movements on the outskirts of their party. It took both Blaise and Ginny to wander over to his not-so-wonderful hiding spot and jostle him loose, but the moment she’d seen him coming, her heart’s steady beat stuttered, speeding more the closer he came.

Draco's shoulders rose and fell in an elegant shrug, much smoother than he felt.

"I thought to keep things a bit more...comfortable for you." At the deepening color to her cheeks, Draco's eyebrow quirked along with the corner of his mouth, his eyes softening at the sight she made. He motioned to the Weasleys at her back. "With your friends, I mean."

When she realized she’d stopped speaking mid-sentence to her guests at Draco’s arrival, that flush only crept further into her cheeks.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” she said, turning to the couple at her back. “Angelina, George, you of course remember Malfoy-- _err_ , Draco.” She motioned back to her freshly crowned husband. “Draco this is--”

“Weasley and Weasley?” He smirked at the look Hermione shot him but was caught off guard when the tall redhead extended his hand for a proper shake, offering him a “congratulations” that wasn’t infused with obvious venom.

Draco wasn’t sure how long he’d had to practice it, but it almost seemed as if the man didn’t hate him. Between that and the fact he’d _actually_ shown up whereas the rest of his family was mysteriously absent, he supposed he would take it for what it seemed.

When the hand of George’s wife jutted in his direction, he took it out of reflex and was immediately shocked by the strength to the grip. His eyes darted to her face and brows furrowed until she finally clicked in his memory.

“Johnson?” he said, bewildered.

The woman’s mouth twitched into a smile and she gave him a hearty shake.

“Formerly. You were closer the first time.” Angelina Weasley _née Johnson_ took her hand back to flash him the band on her finger. “But yes, it’s me. Been a while, hasn’t it? I think the last time I remember seeing you was on the pitch the year Pucey nailed you between the eyes with a Bludger.”

Hermione’s eyes went round, flicking between Angelina and Draco, having forgotten entirely that the two would have known each other from their Quidditch rivalries.

Draco snorted.

"It was the side of the head," he said, correcting her and scratching at a spot on his temple. “Your lot does seem to like bringing that game up quite a bit, though, don't they?”

"Only because it was utterly satisfying," George said with a grin plain on his face. "Any truth to the motivations behind it?"

"George!" Angelina elbowed him in the side, sending him a stern look and glancing to Hermione and back to Draco. "Don't pay him any mind. You don't have to answer that." She indicated her head to his new wife very slightly and spoke again in a lower breath as though that whisper had the secret to success, _"You shouldn't answer that."_

Draco blinked at Angelina then at Hermione, seeing her looking between them questioningly. He remembered, once upon a time, when Hermione asked him the same question in less delicate words. Evidently, so did she.

Hermione’s stare was guarded, tensed just around the edges, as though she were anticipating an unpleasant, vulgar answer to the question if he decided to answer it at all this time. He’d evaded it once before because it’d been none of her business. This time...this time, his gut had him spilling the beans with hardly a second thought.

"Not a hair, Weasley," Draco said. "Sorry to disappoint. I'm not quite as dastardly a chap as they say, shagging another bloke's witch. He was just brassed off because she complained about his pitiful bedroom performance and she had a bout of wishful thinking, yelling about how he should be a better lover like me. She was, of course, going off of rumors about my prowess."

"And were _those_ true?" The question slipped from Angelina's mouth before she could stop it, both her husband _and_ Draco sending her surprised looks.

For her part, Angelina looked a little sheepish but didn't take it back, face alight with curiosity.

The guarded anxiety in Hermione’s face fizzled out in exchange for something else less anxious...and less kind.

“Oh, look!” Hermione said far too loudly considering her proximity to the Weasleys. “Harry’s got the stereo working again!”

Draco shot Hermione an amused glance to which she merely pursed her lips and set her sights forward, watching Harry stumbling free from a long line of cable to the soundtrack of the loud hum of her speakers buzzing to life.

The din of conversation around them died down, all other eyes turning to Harry now where he was fiddling with a microphone. There were a few more seconds of buzzing before it clipped short and was swiftly replaced with his voice broadcasting out over the yard.

“Ah--hello everyone. On Hermione and Malf--uh... _Draco’s_ behalf, I’d like to thank you all for coming on such short notice. Hermione also asked that I give a special thank you to Mrs. Malfoy-- _oh..._ that is to say, _Narcissa_...since...you know, two Mrs. Malfoys now,” Harry paused, grimacing.

Years of press conferences and media and he still _very_ much hated any kind of public speaking. Hermione was so much better at it than him but it’d been a small favor of her to ask.

Clearing his throat, he started again.

“Please give _Narcissa_ Malfoy a big thanks for getting this all set up. Wonderful job, Narcissa.”

There was an obligatory round of applause and the Malfoy matriarch blushed prettily from where she stood near the refreshments table at her husband's side.

To Lucius’ credit, he wasn't _quite_ scowling. Actually, he'd managed to maintain that look of 'not-quite-scowling' throughout the entire ceremony.

Narcissa gave a little wave to the crowd.

“Smile, Lucius,” she said from behind the pearly white sheen of her sparkling teeth. “Everyone is looking.”

Lucius’ face twitched but not into anything kinder. He did well to stifle his sneer but it was a delicate thing.

“What is there to smile about, ‘Cissa?” he asked on an exhaled breath with the subtlety and grace only the self-indulgent social elite ever managed. “Our son just married a Mud--”

The word was cut short and Lucius managed not to vocalize his choking sound of pain as she moved in at his side, her non-waving arm coming to loop across his back while the pointed heel of her shoe of that same side ground into the top of his foot.

“If you ruin our son’s wedding, Lucius, I will demonstrate how mother used to discipline us when she deemed us embarrassments to the House.” She punctuated her point by nearly puncturing him. “Now, _smile._ ”

Lucius blanched.

But he smiled.

He even managed the smallest of waves alongside his wife who gave the still politely applauding crowd a different, more modest smile and redirected their attention back to Harry Potter once more.

Harry caught _some_ kind of exchange between the two elder Malfoys from where he stood and when the wedding guests’ applause petered out, he saw them part. Unsure as to what he’d just witnessed or why Lucius Malfoy was suddenly limping away from where most of them gathered, he turned to the other guests and gave a strained, lopsided smile.

Best to keep it moving.

"Now, I was ‘politely’ asked not to give a speech by both our bride _and_ groom. As much as I’d like to ignore that and do it anyway--" He looking pointedly at Hermione with a grin.

She looked back, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.

"--it’s just as well that I don’t. I'm rubbish at them, anyway. So, instead of listening to me prattle on, we'll get on with it. Please welcome your new couple to the dance floor for their first dance as husband and wife."

Harry looked behind him and waved a hand at Neville. At the man's lack of response, he hissed out his name until he caught his attention again and Neville scurried over to the stereo to hit the play button on the disc changer.

The soft tinkling lilt of piano keys came from the strategically positioned speakers and Hermione immediately recognized the song and paled at the sound of it.

“That little _wanker!_ ” she hissed under her breath.

Draco blinked over at her outburst and caught her glaring daggers at Harry who was merely grinning back.

“Problem?” Draco asked, waffling between amusement and aggravation that Harry Potter was potentially about to ruin what he’d tried so very hard to get through for the sake of the witch at his side.

When Hermione only let out a sighed, shook her head, and said, “No. I’ll deal with _that_ tosser later,” Draco settled for a third option: _confusion_.

Still, he took up her hand and led her to the dance floor, guiding her arms around his neck before settling his own at her hips. He started them in a gentle sway, following the melodic sound of the song.

But...when the lyrics started to play, Draco’s eyebrows shot up and he gazed down at his small wife, suppressing a grin that was threatening to split his face.

Hermione’s mouth couldn’t press into a tighter line if she tried.

**_~`~`~_ **

_I've been alone with you_

_Inside my mind_

_And in my dreams I've kissed your lips_

_A thousand times_

**_~`~`~_ **

"Well then. Something you're trying to tell me, love?" he teased, voice on the edge of laughter.

She averted her gaze, finding an interesting piece of dance tile to look at instead of the mirth filled eyes staring at her.

“This was _not_ what I picked for our first dance, I’ll have you know.”

**_~`~`~_ **

_I sometimes see you_

_Pass outside my door_

_Hello!_

_Is it me you're looking for?_

**_~`~`~_ **

Draco chuckled and guided her in their swaying with the ease of a man who’d had dance lessons drilled into him since he could walk.

He peered down at her, stealing a good long look while he could. He took in her face where she’d opted to cleanse away most of her makeup rather than refreshing it and he admired the mess of curls that’d practically exploded free of their gelled confines as soon as they’d broken apart after their vows -- now devoid of butterflies.

Draco smiled.

"Very...interesting choice of music, Granger. Not quite as good as wizarding fare, but it's palatable."

“Malfoy,” Hermione huffed.

He cocked his head to one side. “Yes?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed but was quickly replaced with an expression which could only be described as “bashfulness.”

“I-I meant...it’s _Malfoy._ Remember? Not Granger. No hyphenating.”

The moment she corrected him, his teasing urge fizzled out and his movements stuttered for half a step.

For some reason, the sound of her claiming his name sent his heart to pounding just a smidge louder and a not unpleasant warmth tingling through his limbs.

“Anyway,” Hermione muttered, changing the subject back. “I’ll have you know he’s a very accomplished musical artist in the Muggle world. Popular all over!”

“You like him, then. Quite a lot it seems.” He ventured a guess with his statement, watching the lines around her eyes and mouth tell him all the things he needed to know.

Hermione turned a defensive glare upwards only to fall short when she caught his stare.

The gray in his eyes had taken on a darker shade again, shimmering silver whenever they would sway just so and the light would catch. She’d seen this very same stare of his so much more often recently, the most recent time being right before he’d leaned in to kiss her.

And another when he watched her walking to meet him at the archway while on Harry’s arm.

...which _also_ happened to be shortly before he gave her that beautiful wedding band with its hideous inscription.

The faint fluttering in her belly that began every time he looked at her like that, fell flat.

Seemingly out of nowhere, she scoffed and turned her head.

“You’re a prat, you know that?

**_~`~`~_ **

_I can see it in your eyes_

_I can see it in your smile_

_You're all I've ever wanted_

_And my arms are open wide_

**_~`~`~_ **

Whatever he’d been feeling was doused by her words.

Draco gave her an incredulous look before leading her in a small spin along with a crescendo in the music.

When she twirled back into the cradle of his arms and was rocking with him again, he asked, "What have I done this time?"

" _WHAT_ have you--" she began loudly at first then remembering everyone was still watching. Hermione reigned in the flare of her temper and spoke at a level only they could hear, _“What have you done?!”_

When he continued to look confused, she fastened her glare onto his puzzled face.

"Have you already forgotten the filth you had emblazoned onto the wedding bands?"

At that, Draco had the decency to look ashamed.

“Ah,” he said. “That.”

" _Yes_ ,” she hissed. _“THAT."_

"Look, I forgot about it until today, okay?"

If possible, Hermione looked _more_ put out by that statement.

If she were honest, she was also a bit hurt.

"So, am I to be more or _less_ offended over the fact you did it in the first place or the fact it was trivial enough for you to forget about until it was staring you in your git face?"

Hermione turned away from him, nose in the air.

They continued moving automatically to the rhythm of the music, not speaking for several beats.

**_~`~`~_ **

_'cause you know just what to say_

_And you know just what to do_

_And I want to tell you so much_

_I love you_

**_~`~`~_ **

Draco cleared his throat, fully expecting the heat of her anger on him again as he did.

"We can have it changed later," he offered lamely, watching her temper cool, but only just so.

"Yes. _Good!_ " Hermione snapped, then a moment later saying, "Thank you."

As the music stretched on, Hermione rolled other words of her own over in her mouth.

It took her a few tries to spit out the distasteful offer, but she did it anyway.

“We can have yours changed back as well...if you prefer."

Draco had almost forgotten about the change to his own ring until she said something, his mind too preoccupied with his mistake and the hint of disappointment he kept seeing creeping into her eyes when she spoke about it.

"About that--" He waited until she returned her attention to him.

"What of it?"

"How did you know yours would be the same? It could've been anything else."

" _Please,_ " she scoffed. "I know you too well, Malfoy. It could have been _nothing_ else."

The comment struck him.

It hit him harder than he'd expected, actually.

**_~`~`~_ **

_I long to see the sunlight in your hair_

_And tell you time and time again_

_How much I care_

_Sometimes I feel my heart will overflow_

**_~`~`~_ **

She was right.

She did know him extremely well.

It couldn’t have been any other way, could it? Not after growing up and working together for as long as they have.

It wasn't that part that got to him, though.

It was more the fact she'd expected the worst from him as her initial, knee jerk reaction. She expected him to be a conniving, distasteful prick, even when it came to something as meaningful and important to her as this.

And he hadn't been one to disappoint, had he?

Draco frowned.

Maybe he wasn't trying as hard to succeed in this reformed world as he originally thought he was.

He bought her a beautiful dress.

He paid for as extravagant a wedding as she'd desired.

He even let her invite _all_ the Weasels, even if not all of them could attend.

Even with all that taken into consideration, he still let one of her most important items of discussion fall through the cracks because he wanted to be clever and spiteful.

_'Good job, mate. You arse.'_

**_~`~`~_ **

_Hello!_

_I've just got to let you know_

_'cause I wonder where you are_

_And I wonder what you do_

**_~`~`~_ **

Draco thought about the new inscription on his ring and its meaning.

_Virtue can only flourish amongst equals._

Maybe someday he’d reach the bar she set and they could see if it was true.

He wouldn’t hold his breath.

**_~`~`~_ **

_Are you somewhere feeling lonely?_

_Or is someone loving you?_

_Tell me how to win your heart_

_For I haven't got a clue_

_But let me start by saying I love you_

**~`~`~**

"How did you do it?" he asked, more in avoidance of his dismal thoughts than anything.

"What?" Hermione asked, eyes tired and unfocused, her own thoughts obviously having been everywhere but with him.

"The last I left you, you were undergoing what I recall Red stating to be 'an extremely long fucking process, Ferret, so leave us the fuck alone'." The smile threatening to chase away her somber expression made the leaden weight in his gut lighten, if only a little. "How were you able to change it in time for the ceremony?"

Even through her exasperation with him and her general lethargy from being up arse early in the morning to suffer through torturous efforts of hair and makeup, Hermione brightened.

For as much as she tried to resist and stay angry, she had a particular weakness for explaining any and all details of her cleverness -- _especially_ when asked.

"After Luna brought it up – and after I was done contemplating how bad the legal processions would be if I stomped downstairs to kill my husband-to-be on our wedding day – I sent Ginny to a friend of mine."

"You know a jeweler?"

The noise that left her at the question was a funny mixture of a chortle and a huff.

"Of course I do. I'm bloody famous!"

He laughed, caught off guard by the words. She sent him a small smile that did well to set him at ease.

"It's from working with all the cursed jewelry that's been popping up over the past several months. My jeweler, Oliver, has helped me immensely with understanding the finer points of construction on the pieces I’ve been investigating and have to dissect. It's made it leaps and bounds easier to find where to look on new items the Aurors bring me for signs or signatures of the caster so we can try to identify the culprit."

Hermione’s face took on a far off, unhappy expression when she thought about her work.

"I still haven't been able to make headway on that. He or she is either very clever or just very eccentric. There's no set pattern I can figure to _where_ they’ve been anchoring the spells even though they're obviously the same person--"

"Granger,” Draco interrupted when she began to ramble. “We're not at work. I don't need the dissertation."

Hermione blinked up at him and blushed.

"Sorry. Anyway... _yes_. I know a jeweler through work. Thankfully, he's also a friend. That and he’s _quite_ interested in money."

The topic of money had his ears burning.

Whether it was thanks to his upbringing or to his knowledge that Hermione didn’t have droves of Galleons to spend on things like fixing the aftermath of his ill thought out hijinks, it mattered little.

The question was out of him quicker than he could meter the displeasure in his tone.

"Just _how much_ did you have to pay him to do this work on such short notice and with such a stringent deadline?"

Hermione averted her gaze at that.

Draco frowned.

He wasn't sure what was worse: knowing he dropped the ball at _not_ being a git or knowing that his reluctant wife had to, _literally_ , pay for it.

Draco swept his hands up from the curve of her hips to run his knuckles over her arms. At the tender touch, Hermione turned her head back and he used the opportunity to brush several clusters of curls back over her shoulder, tucking others behind her ear.

"I'll reimburse you for whatever you had to pay."

"Nonsense, Malfoy. I know you want to pay for everything and whatall, but it's not as though I'm _completely_ poor,” she said it and meant it, even if it _was_ said with a rueful smile.

When Hermione made to look away again, she was stopped by Draco’s hand on her cheek.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

“It’s not about that,” he said and it was a serious, grim thing. “I won’t have you paying for my mistakes, Hermione.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open with a soft _oh_ , but beyond that, she really didn’t know what else to say.

Draco let the silence fall between them and returned to their dance.

**_~`~`~_ **

_Hello!_

_Is it me you're looking for?_

_'cause I wonder where you are_

_And I wonder what you do_

**_~`~`~_ **

The music continued through its dramatics, the sweet sounds of the ballad rising and falling as gently as a wave.

Their exchange tapered off, Draco’s words still echoing in Hermione’s ears as they took their steps and danced their dance as delicately and elegantly as they were supposed to.

His face was taut and schooled into the neutral expression she remembered more often from their days in class -- an expression she _also_ often saw at The Ministry when she would glimpse his dealings with others in meetings or whatall.

Draco’s was the face of a man with enemies on all sides.

Hermione cleared her throat and seemingly from nowhere said, “It really isn’t a big deal.”

This time, it was Draco’s turn to come out of a daze. As soon as he did so, he fixed her with a critical stare.

“Attempting to sabotage your own wedding by being an immature prat and ticking off your wife, thereby making her spend what was likely thousands of Galleons to strip a magical incantation and apply another in the course of an afternoon so she doesn’t have a miserable time isn’t that big of a deal?”

Hermione chewed at the edge of her lip, thought about the bill he was very _not_ wrong about, then heaved a great sigh. “Alright...so it _was_ a big deal.”

Draco nodded once, sharply, and the silence crept back in again with Hermione’s attempt at setting him at ease having failed.

She wasn’t even sure why it mattered to her, he _had_ been a prat.

And he _did_ pull a stupid stunt that cost her more money than she had to really spend. And why? Because he’d been being a vindictive little shit over their contract terms and the entire law.

Still, as she observed the angry set to his jaw while they danced and the way the muscles in his neck kept twitching as though he were clenching and gnawing at the inside of his cheek, she didn’t feel vindicated in his misery.

That made two of them, she supposed.

Perhaps it was because he seemed so regretful of his actions that more words fell out of her.

“You couldn’t have known,” she said.

Draco shot her another stern look, less because of her and more due to the bitter thoughts circling in his own head.

“Couldn’t have known a traditionally joyful occasion, one which _most_ witches dream about their entire lives, would potentially be ruined by putting quite possibly _the_ most offensive phrase to my bride on her wedding band? I hate to keep countering you, Granger, but I dare say that’s the entire reason I did it,” he said in a short, somewhat terse reply.

Hermione scoffed and when he began to scowl, she tugged at the short hairs at the base of his neck until his expression cooled to something more neutral and she took on a familiar, bossy tone -- the one in particular she used when they would sling insults in the office.

“Are you calling me average, Malfoy?” Hermione asked, nose up in the air.

The sudden shift in conversation nearly made him stumble over his own feet, but he recovered smoothly enough.

“What? No, of course not!” Draco was caught off balance. “Where did you come up with that?”

Hermione gave an elegant shrug, her fingers taken to idly toying with the silky hairs at his hairline now.

“You just seemed to be insinuating that I was like any other witch with the simpering over weddings and things, _which_ I’ll have you know is entirely untrue.”

Draco hummed, though if it was to her statement or the light tickling of her fingers over his skin he couldn’t have said for sure.

“So…” he hedged, even now unsure as to why his next question mattered to him as much as it did. “Wedding not ruined by your prat husband, then?”

Hermione’s stomach flipped at his title.

 _Husband._  

Warmth bloomed in her limbs at the sound of it almost to spite her.

There was something unsettling about how easy and real this all felt after the terrible build up. Perhaps more unsettling was the fact she found herself enjoying it—even if only to the smallest degree and even in light of his fool stunt.

A tiny smirk quirked her lips.

“You’re still a prat. Nothing to do with that, I’m afraid.” Her smirk grew into a smile when Draco’s expression finally lightened and his own usual smirk began to emerge. “But, no. Wedding not ruined. Besides, it’s not the _most_ offensive thing you could’ve put on it.”

All the effort to soothe him went right down the drain with those last few words of hers.

Hermione felt him stiffen in her arms and she saw his eyes dart to her left forearm, searching for the scar she’d concealed with charms for the wearing of her dress. At once, she felt completely exposed and the attempt to lighten his mood squashed along with her own.

She waited with a knowing anticipation—waited for that look she hated so much.

Hermione waited for his pity.

Except it never came.

Instead, there was something that spoke of loathing in his storm gray eyes and it wasn’t at all directed at _her_. His hands tightened where they sat at her hips and the one at her left side slid upwards along the arm still looped around his neck. Draco’s thumb brushed over the scar on her arm and she knew he could feel it beyond the charmed illusion. Still, there was no pity, only that look from him that reminded Hermione far too much of their sixth year at school when he’d been the shadow of the snotty, confident little boy she’d once known.

In it, there was a tinge of understanding from possibly the only other person she knew that’d been so unwillingly branded with another’s hate and Hermione wasn’t sure what to do with that.

“I’m sorry, Granger.” It was perhaps the rawest, most honest thing Draco had ever said to her to date. Whether he was apologizing for calling her the foul slur all those years, for standing by and watching her suffer through this particular pain, or for being the terrible arse she expected him to be even on their wedding day, he didn’t know. He just knew he was sorry.

**_~`~`~_ **

_Are you somewhere feeling lonely?_

_Or is someone loving you?_

_Tell me how to win your heart_

_For I haven't got a clue_

_But let me start by saying I love you_

**_~`~`~_ **

Hermione didn’t know why her eyes stung at his apology, but she knew she didn’t want to cry--not over that, not on the day she wanted to leave the past behind her and move on. She’d cried enough over the war and all the scars it’d left her with, inside and out, all the things it’d made her do, including this foolish law. If she cried over it again now, she’d never stop and Hermione didn’t want that life anymore.

Seeing that same troubled look she’d harbored for too long reflected back at her in Draco’s regretful gaze, she didn’t want that life for _him_ either.

They were in this together, now. No looking back.

“I don’t need you to be sorry,” Hermione said at last, her voice quiet and tremulous. When he opened his mouth to reply, she shook her head and her voice was stronger as she cut him off, “I don’t need apologies or condolences. Whatever happened before--that’s before. I’m just...I’m tired of it. Of the past. I don’t want you to be sorry, I just want to work on making things _better_. I need a partner in whatever is supposed to happen from here because I’m so bloody _tired_ of guessing at it by myself!”

The words finished pouring out and Hermione turned her head away, blushing furiously at the desperation she felt in them. Honesty with each other had been a long standing given between them but it felt like too much, especially towards someone who harbored no fond feelings for her. In the past, they’d used it to snark and prod the other with painful, mocking truths. Using it in any other way, even with her expressed desire to move forward, it was terrifying.

As the music of their song neared its end and the sway Draco led them in, slowed to a stop, Hermione thought to amend her statement, wishing with every fiber of her being that she still had her Time Turner. He hadn’t replied to her yet and she hadn’t dared look back up, feeling too naked under the gaze she felt on the side of her face.

She wasn’t sure how long it’d been since she spoke but the music finally faded to be filled instead with a short round of applause from their guests, the sound muted in her ears. And then she felt the light stroking of his fingers across her cheekbone just before a crooked knuckle of the same hand nudged her chin up and drew her eyes back to his.

Draco’s sorrow filled look of self-loathing had disappeared and in its place, Hermione glimpsed a spark of something more determined. A hint of that bright, competitive coworker that filled her days with interest when everyone was otherwise content to let her rot in her mildewy closet office.

“I’ve got you, Granger,” Draco said, voice as low and soft as hers had been at first.

His eyes flicked down to her lips where she’d drawn the lower one between her teeth and worried at it.

He swallowed, nodded once, and his smirk that’d been so deeply buried beneath the anxiety and stress of the wedding, The Law, and work, surfaced after what seemed like ages.

“Better, I can do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I mean...Hermione is a Lionel Richie fan. Because reasons.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on the social medias! o_o
> 
> Twitter: @lechegomyeggo  
> Tumblr: dulce-de-leche-go  
> 
> 
> **Update as of 3/20/2018:** Just to let folks know, life has all but swallowed me whole at the moment! I'm attempting to keep up with my modest update schedule of once a week on this story for now but I'm having to spend a lot of time on stuff managing my personal health lest I end up in a bad spot so...yeah. Check Tumblr for any breaking news updates. Olive juice.  <3


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